The Ice Palace (6 page)

It gushed out. She called ‘Siss!’

When she had done so she started. ‘Siss!’ came in answer from at least three directions.

She stood still until the shout mingled with the roar. Then she crossed the room. As she did so she thought about her mother and about Siss and about the other – she managed it for a very brief moment. The call had made an opening; now it slammed shut again.

Why am I here? It occurred to her, as she walked up and down. Not so many steps; she was walking more and more stiffly and unrecognizably. Why am I here? She attempted to find the solution to this riddle. Meanwhile she walked, strangely exalted, half unconscious.

She was close to the edge now: the ice laid its hand upon her.

She sensed the paralysing frost. Her coat had been left somewhere else. That was the reason. Now the cold could bore into her body as it liked. She felt herself getting frightened and darted across to the wall to get out to her warm coat. Where had she come in?

The wall was a mountain of ice, compact and smooth. She darted across to another. How many walls were there? All was compact and smooth wherever she turned. She began shouting childishly, ‘I must get out!’ Immediately she found the opening.

But this palace was odd. She did not get back to her coat. She came out into something she did not like very much.

Yet another room. It was really tiny, and full of dripping icicles hanging down from the low ceiling, full of icicles growing up from the floor, and jagged walls with many angles, so thick that the green light was deadened. But the roar of the waterfall was not deadened; here it was suddenly very close or underneath or wherever it might be – it was like being right
inside
it.

The water trickled down the walls of this room,
reminding her of the one in which she had cried. She did not cry now. The cold prevented that and blurred everything. Much was flashing through her mind but as if in a mist; if she tried to grasp it, something else was there instead. It must have occurred to her that surely this was dangerous, she would shout loudly and challengingly the shout that was part of the ice palace. ‘Hey! Hey!’

But it could scarcely be called a proper shout. Another thought laid itself across it, and she barely heard it herself. It did not carry at all; the only answer was the savage roar. The roar swept all other sounds away. Nor did it matter. Another thought, and another ray of cold had already chopped it off.

It occurred to her that the roar was like something to lie down in, just to lie down in and be carried away. As far as you wanted – no, that one was chopped off.

The floor was wet with the drops. In some places the surface of the water was freezing thinly.
This
was no place to be – Unn searched the complicated walls yet again for an opening.

This was the last room; she could go no further.

She thought this only vaguely. At any rate there was no way out. This time it was no use, whatever she did. There were plenty of fissures, but they did not lead out to anything, only further in to ice and strange flashes of light.

But she had come in, after all?

No use thinking like that. It was not in, it was out now – and that was another matter, she thought confusedly. The fissure through which she had entered was naturally not to be found when she wanted to leave again.

No use calling. The roar drowned it. A hollow of tears was ready waiting in front of her. She could plunge into it, but
she could not drag herself so far. She had finished with that elsewhere.

Was someone knocking on the wall?

No, nobody would knock on the wall here! You don’t knock on walls of ice. What she was looking for was a dry patch to stand on.

At last she found a corner where there was no moisture but dry frost. There she sat down with her feet tucked under her, her feet which she could no longer feel.

Now the cold began to stiffen her whole body, and she no longer felt it so keenly. She felt tired and had to sit down for a while before she began looking seriously for the way out and an escape – away from here – out to her coat and out to Auntie and out to Siss.

Her thoughts became gradually more confused and vague. She distinguished Mother for a while, then she slid away, too. And all the rest was a mist, threaded with flashes, but not so as to hold her attention. There would be time enough to think about it later.

Everything was so long ago, it receded. She was tired of all this running about in the palace, in all this strangeness, so it was good to sit for a while, now that the cold was not troubling her so much. She sat squeezing her hands together hard. She had forgotten why. After all, she was wearing her double mitts.

The drops began to play to her. At first she had heard nothing besides the tremendous roar, but now she could distinguish the plim-plam of the falling drops. They oozed out of the low ceiling and fell on to icicles and into puddles – and there was a song in it, monotonous and incessant: plim-plam, plim-plam.

And what was
that?

She straightened up. Something was flooding over her that she had never felt before, she began to shout – now she had a deep black well of shouts if she should need them – but she did not let out more than one.

There was something in the ice! At first it had no form, but the moment she shouted it took shape and shone out like an eye of ice up there, confronting her, putting a stop to her thoughts.

It was clearly an eye, a tremendous eye.

It grew wider and wider as it looked at her, right in the middle of the ice, and full of light. That was why she had shouted only once. And yet when she looked again it was not frightening.

Her thoughts were simple now. The cold had paralysed them little by little. The eye in the ice was big and looked at her unblinkingly, but there was no need to be afraid, all she thought was: What are you looking for? Here I am. More hazily a familiar thought in such situations came to her: I haven’t done anything.

No need to be afraid.

She settled down again as before, with her feet drawn up, and looked about her, for the eye was bringing more light, the room was more distinct.

It’s only a big eye.

There
are
big eyes here.

But she felt it looking at her from up there, and she was obliged to raise her head and meet the eye without flinching.

Here I am. I’ve been here all the time. I haven’t done anything.

Gradually the room filled with the plim-plam of the water drops. Each drop was like a fraction of a song. Beneath
played the harsh, incessant roar, and then came the high plim-plam, like more pleasant music in the middle of it. It reminded her of something she had forgotten a long time ago, and because of that it was familiar and reassuring.

The light increased.

The eye confronted her, giving out more light. But Unn looked at it boldly, letting it widen as much as it would, letting it inspect her as closely as it wished; she was not afraid of it.

She was not cold either. She was not comfortable, she was strangely paralysed, but she did not feel cold. Hazily she remembered a time when it had been dreadfully cold in the palace but not now. She felt quite heavy and limp. She really would have liked to sleep for a little, but the eye kept her awake.

Now she no longer stirred but sat against the wall with her head raised so that she could look straight at the light in the ice. The light became increasingly brighter and began to fill up with fire. Between herself and the eye were the quick glints of the falling drops as they made their monotonous music.

The fiery eye had been merely a warning, for now the room was suddenly drowned in flame. The winter sun was at last high enough to enter the ice palace.

The late, cold sun retained a surprising amount of its strength. Its rays penetrated thick ice walls and corners and fissures and broke the light into wonderful patterns and colours, making the sad room dance. The icicles hanging from the ceiling and the ones growing up from the floor, and the water drops themselves all danced together in the flood of light that broke in. And the drops shone and hardened and shone and hardened, making one drop the
less each time in the little room. It would soon be filled.

A blinding flood of light. Unn had lost all ties with everything but light. The staring eye had burned up; everything was light. She thought dully that there was an awful lot of it.

She was ready for sleep; she was even warm as well. It was not cold in here at any rate. The pattern in the ice wall danced in the room, the light shone more strongly. Everything that should have been upright was upside-down – everything was piercingly bright. Not once did she think this was strange; it was just as it should be. She wanted to sleep; she was languid and limp and ready.

Was it only a strange dream?
Was
it Unn and me yesterday evening? Yes!

When her uncertainty had been dispelled the truth was clear: it had happened. In astonishment and joy.

Today all she felt was renewed longing for Unn. She must go straight to school to meet her. She could do it today, now things had changed.

Siss had to lie for a while thinking about all that was going to be new from now on. She made herself feel solemn by thinking: I am Unn’s friend for ever. She made it as precious as she could.

Mother and Father asked her no questions today. Not a word about her rather unusual homecoming the night before. They would probably wait for a bit. For one day or two. Then they would ask as if inadvertently. That was how they managed to find out about most things.

But not this! This was the limit. Not a word about Unn would they get out of her. Whatever it was shining in Unn’s eyes was much too delicate to be talked about.

The morning was like any other morning. Siss dressed herself warmly against the cold, took her satchel and set off for school.

Who would get there first? Unn’s path did not join hers until just before they reached school. They had never seen each other on the way there.

Will Unn be embarrassed today? she thought.

The frost felt keener than ever. The sky above the delicate
silken twilight shimmered blue as steel. Today there was nothing frightening at the sides of the road; the morning darkness was pleasant as it dispersed, gradually and surely. Strange that one could get into a panic about it at night.

What is the matter with Unn?

She’ll probably tell me again some time. I shan’t think about it. I just want to be with her. She needn’t tell me. It’s something that hurts; I don’t want to know what it is.

Unn had not arrived when Siss hurried into the warm classroom. Several of the others were there. Some of them said casually, ‘Hi, Siss.’

She did not say a word about yesterday’s meeting. They probably expected it, because of the exchange of notes, but they contained themselves. They were probably waiting to see what would happen when Unn turned up. Siss had it all worked out: as soon as Unn appeared in the doorway she would go to meet her so that everyone should see how things stood. The idea made her so happy that she tingled all over.

Had she altered already? A girl from the old group asked straight out, ‘What’s the matter, Siss?’

‘Nothing.’

Could they already see that she would leave them and go to Unn as if rejoicing? Were their eyes
so
sharp? Oh well, it made no difference. In any case it would soon be no secret. In spite of awkwardness she would have to do it: go to Unn shining with friendliness.

Wasn’t she going to come soon out of the twilight? Like something new?

There was no sign of her. Soon nearly all of them had come except Unn. The teacher came. Time was up,

The teacher said good morning.

But wasn’t Unn coming?

It was immediately verified from the charge desk: ‘Unn’s missing today.’

They began the lesson.

Unn’s missing today. A calm statement of fact. Siss, who was watchful, thought she heard slight surprise in the teacher’s voice. Others would certainly have heard nothing. Sometimes one of them was missing, sometimes another. No fuss was made. It was noted in a thick register that Unn had not come to school today. That was all.

Siss sat nervously at her desk.

She had noticed that Unn never played truant from school, so it must have been something special today. And Siss connected it without hesitation with their meeting in her bedroom yesterday evening. Did Unn simply not want to meet her today? Was she
so
embarrassed?

In the break Siss tried to behave as usual. Nobody said she didn’t, so she must have succeeded. Nor did anybody mention Unn, who was missing; she was an outsider after all.

The school day proceeded. The late winter sun rose and shone as best it could on the window-panes. Siss simply waited for the sun to go down and the day to end, so that she could get away and ask after Unn. The day felt long.

Shortly after noon the sun went in. Before it began its brief downward course it became veiled in mist, a mist that soon turned into thick, grey cloud.

Up at the charge desk the voice was saying: ‘The weather report said there’d be a change this afternoon. They’re expecting snow.’

Snow.

The first time this year.

Brief, but full of meaning: snow.

It had a special ring. Everyone in the room was so very well aware of what the word stood for: an important part of life. Snow.

The voice up there continued: ‘So the cold weather will probably break, too.’

And again: ‘But then the snow will cover the ice.’ For a moment each one of them thought of something sad: funerals or something similar. That was what it sounded like. The lake was black and shining like steel for the last time. There had been a cold, but marvellous skating season for a long time. Today it would end, today the snow would come.

When they went out of doors after the next lesson the ice had already begun to whiten.

Here in the schoolyard the ground was still bare, but the air was grey and you could feel a few invisible flakes on your face if you lifted it. The enormous expanse of ice was already white. The flat surface of the mirror had no resistance, collecting the snowflakes long before anything else.