Lena, the Sea, and Me

Part OneSaltwater Summer   Chapter OneJumping from the BreakwaterThe back door slammed shut, making our whole house shake. Then there followed an almighty crash and somebody shouting “Oh, fish cakes!”   I stumbled out of my attic bedroom onto the landing, still half-asleep. The rest of my family were already standing there with unbrushed hair and confused expressions. Minda, my big sister, only had one eye open. Dad looked like he hadn’t worked out yet if he was a man or a duvet.   “Bang!” shouted my little sister, Krølla.   “What on earth was that?” asked Magnus, my big brother.     “Either there’s been some kind of natural disaster,” said Mom, “or Lena Lid’s back from her vacation.”   It wasn’t a natural disaster. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, Lena, my best friend and dear neighbor, was standing there in the hallway.   “Hi, Trille,” she sighed.   “Hi. What’s that you’ve got there?”   “It’s your present.”   I rubbed my eyes. “Thank you. What is it?”   “A pile of sticks and broken glass, obviously! But it was a ship in a bottle.”   Lena looked miserable.   “Maybe it can be fixed?” I suggested.   “Fixed?” said Lena. “It was supposed to be the best present ever. It can’t be fixed! I really don’t know how they managed to get that ship inside the bottle, Trille. The masts and sails were all up and were way wider than the neck.”   Mom helped us clean up the shipwreck. She wanted to throw it away, but I gathered up all the bits of glass and wood in an ice-cream tub and put it in my room. It was a present, after all.   Lena sat down at our breakfast table. She looked different, and I had to check carefully several times to see what had changed. She’d had her hair cut and gotten some multicolored braid things put into it. She’d gotten a suntan too. As for me, I felt a bit too much like my normal self, sitting there in the same old shorts I’d been wearing when she’d left. Our family hardly ever goes on vacation, or at least not abroad. We’ve got our farm and everything to look after. But Lena, that lucky sausage, she’d just spent two long weeks on Crete with her mom and her stepdad, Isak.   She’d drunk smoothies with little umbrellas in them, she told me while I ate my liver paste on bread. And she’d slept under only one sheet and swum in the warm sea. There were hundreds of little shops there, with millions of cool things she could get with her pocket money. Like that bottle. She’d had french fries for dinner every day. And it was so hot around lunchtime on Crete that it was almost like standing next to a Midsummer bonfire the whole time.     “Smoking haddocks, you should’ve seen what it was like, Trille!”   “Yes,” I said, carrying on munching.   It was annoying never having been to the Mediterranean. But I had something exciting to tell Lena too. I waited anxiously for her to ask if anything new had happened back here in Norway. But she didn’t. On Crete there was a speedboat she’d taken to a little island, she told me, and her mom had tried being dragged along behind it with some kind of balloon in the air.   “Anyway, did I tell you how hot it was?” she asked.   I nodded. Lena went on about a stray dog called Porto, who might have had rabies, about some girls she’d played with — who hardly dared to do any balancing games at all — and about having pancakes for breakfast.   Eventually I couldn’t wait any longer.   “I jumped off the highest part of the breakwater.”   Lena finally stopped talking. She squinted at me suspiciously. “You’re joking.”   I shook my head. My neighbor got up. I could quite clearly tell that this was one of those things she’d have to see before she could believe it. And see it she would!   “Thanks for the food,” I called to Mom with my mouth full.    Then I grabbed my towel from where it was hanging on the banister.   The L-shaped breakwater in Mathildewick Cove is made of massive rocks and has a swimming area in the crook of its arm. In the winter, the storms blow in fine sand, which we use to make sandcastles and other fortifications. But when Lena went on vacation that summer, I’d been allowed to go with Minda and Magnus and their friends to the outside of the breakwater, where it’s highest and the water below is deep and cold. It was almost like the beginning of a new life.   Lena’s the champion of Mathildewick Cove when it comes to jumping off tall things. Nobody has less fear in their stomach. Or less sense in their head, as Magnus says. But even Lena’s never jumped from the breakwater. She doesn’t float very well.     “Throwing Lena into the fjord is more or less like dropping an anchor,” says Grandpa.   It was quite a big deal that there was something I could jump from that she couldn’t. I could tell that Lena wasn’t pleased.   There I was on the highest rock on the breakwater. It was the crack of dawn, and it was only sixty degrees outside.   “Are you sure you’re psyched up enough for this?” Lena asked me seriously.   She was leaning over one of the other rocks, wearing her jacket and a Mediterranean scarf. I nodded. I’d jumped in the water lots of times while she’d been away. But it had always been at high tide. Now the tide was out, and it was farther to jump. I could see the bottom. The wind buffeted my swimming shorts. For a moment I wondered whether it was really worth it. But then I saw Lena, back from Crete, leaning over the rock and not believing I could do it.    I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. One. Two. THREE!    Ker-splash! came the sound as I hit the water, and then sworlsh as the bubbling surface closed over my head. The first time I’d gone down into the deep like this, I’d thought I was going to drown. Now I knew that all I had to do was thrash my legs around like crazy and hold my breath.   “Phuh!” I puffed as I shot back through the surface of the water and into the summer morning air.   Lena had climbed up onto the highest rock and was looking down at me skeptically. I smiled triumphantly. I’d shown her this time!   Next thing I knew, Lena was putting one foot in front of the other and slapping her hands against her face to psych herself up.  “Ay-ay-aaaaaaaaaah!” she howled.   Then she flew through the air in her jeans, sweater, jacket, scarf, and sneakers.  Ker-splash!   It was only as she leaped from the breakwater that Lena properly landed home from her vacation. Talking about smoothies on Crete doesn’t quite have the same shine to it when you’ve almost drowned in Mathildewick Cove. She resurfaced after what seemed like an endlessly long time and then disappeared again with a bloop.    If Grandpa hadn’t come along with his fishing gaff, I don’t know how it all would’ve ended. He used the long pole with the hook on its end to pull Lena ashore like a giant fish while she coughed and flailed around worse than ever.   “I did actually drown for a moment,” Lena said afterward. “I saw an enormous light.”   We’d drunk two mugs of Isak’s special red-hot July cocoa, but Lena was still shaking like a lawn mower left running.  “Pfft,” I said. “You can’t drown and still be alive. It was just the sun. That’s what it looks like from underwater.”   “You don’t know what I saw! The sea in Mathildewick Cove is colder than iced tea. The people on Crete would seriously die if they went swimming here!”   I didn’t say anything. It was where we’d always swum.     “Well,” Lena went on, “never in my life am I going to jump from that breakwater again. Been there, done that.”   She tilted her head back happily, downing the last few gulps of her cocoa.