The fog began rolling across the sea early in the morning. It began far away, past Ketchikan, past Seward. It came from far out across the Pacific. Yet the morning didn’t look any different on the small island. The sun was shining brightly, warming the granite rocks, perfect for swimming. The birds were chirping happily as Per made his way around on his morning walk.

There wasn’t a technical need for the walk: everything was in order. The food was stocked in the kitchen, the logs for the fire were precut in the shed. A walk was simply what one did on a morning on the island. Per didn’t need to look at the ground when he walked, even at his late age. He had known the moss, and the grass, and the cliffs since he was eighteen. A few old trees had fallen, a few new ones had been planted, but things looked more or less the same as they did back then. He may not have been as fleet on his feet as he had been, but he still could make it all the way around the island without a problem.

The real issue with the island was his wife. She had never known it as well, perhaps not appreciated it as much either. She was a bit slower now, her memory was no longer what it once was. As much as it pained him to admit it, he knew that this could be their last trip. Ida lay sleeping in the cottage now. He didn’t care to wake her. There was no harm in resting.

Per passed the tiny pond in the woods. He remembered how his children had played there, and now how their children played there. He thought of the little boats he had carved for the pond. They sat in the little yellow house now, waiting for eager young hands to play with them. On the edge of the pond, the lingonberries were beginning to grow ripe. Ah it was beginning to be that time now, that bittersweet end of summer. At least it was hot still. 

Down by the dock, small fish, and jellyfish swam in the sea. The crystal-clear water glittered in the sun. Svein, the neighboring fisherman, headed by the island on his way out to sea. It was a good year for cod, a good year for salmon too. Per waved as Svein made his way around the bend. They had seen each other every summer either of them could remember. Instead of heading towards the harbor, the Sigrid headed towards the island. Svein slid aside the glass and cried out from the window: “I think a storm is heading this way. Maybe you and Ida should head back to town just in case”. Per laughed. On a day like this? It seemed unlikely. A storm always did some good, anyway. There was something about watching the wind shake the trees, the waves crashing upon the rocks. Svein shook his head and rode on his way. He would be back to bring them fresh fish in the morning.

Per stopped in the little yellow house. The two bedrooms were silent. It had been a long time since there was a visit. Before his children moved away, the island was hopping with visitors, but for now he could enjoy the peace and quiet. It reminded him of when he and Ida were first married. They spent months there. If it were up to him, they could’ve spent the whole year, even. Of course, it was impossible: they had to work after all. And then the island was hardly a place to weather the winter. Ida had to get back to the shop, and he had to get back to the school. He spent the year in town, longing to get back here, to the free sea air. He couldn’t bear to think of being back in the stuffy house. He had to enjoy the summer while it was still here. 

The days were getting shorter, that was for certain. The sun had begun sinking lower in the sky, in its slow march back to mørketida. He headed back to the house for a coffee. Ida was beginning to wake up. She smiled, lit up by the sunbeam coming in through the windows. Of all the things that had changed, Ida’s smile was still the same as the day he had met her in the harbor in Stavanger. She had been in front of him with her family as they boarded the ship to New York. Her vestlandsk accent was cute, with its soft r’s and hushed tones. He had no clue what to expect in America. He only knew that he was meant to go to Alaska to join some friends on a fishing boat. She was moving there for the second time, so she could show him around. She could read things in English better than he could: he had only learned a few words from the other fisherman in Nordfold. The whole crossing over the Atlantic, she helped him study. By the time they arrived, they had agreed to travel west together.

Ida poured herself some coffee. “Do we have any salmon from yesterday?” she asked. Per shook his head: “We finished it last night”. Ida mumbled something to herself and opened the fridge. She pulled out the bowl of strawberries that Svein had harvested from his garden and began hulling them. “I had the strangest dream last night,” she said slowly. “I was back in Kopervik with Selmer. We were walking…” Ida stopped suddenly. Per knew she had forgotten what she was going to say. It happened more and more these days, but he couldn’t bear to tell her.

“You know,” Per said, “Svein told me there would be a storm tonight”. Ida laughed and shook her head: “Svein always thinks something is going to happen”.  Ida ate her berries and oatmeal contemplatively. She never said a word, but Per knew that something was on her mind. She sighed: “Do you think we should go back? Just one more time.” 

“It would be hard.”

“Wouldn’t you like to anyway?”

“Maybe we can go this winter.”

The truth was, Per didn’t want to go back, but he knew that Ida did. He had heard from his mother only twice since he had moved, once to tell him that the war had started, and once to tell him that his father had died. She was long gone certainly, not that he had ever heard anything. It was only that no one was left in Nordland to tell him about it. He missed his village, with the sheep and cows. His aunt Alma had had a horse, Knekkebrød, that he had loved dearly. It was all long gone. Even if he and Ida did go back, who would there be to see? Stavanger would hardly be recognizable in all the time that had passed. Now that there was oil, the rigs were being built, the big ships coming and going. No, their Norway was long in the past, and soon enough, they would be too. The entire memory of the era lost to time. 

After eating some breakfast, Ida and Per went swimming off the dock. His body felt light in the water, as if he were a child again. Ida splashed him as she jumped into the sea. They swam around to the western side of the island. The water was colder there. There must have been a current moving their way. Maybe Svein was right about the storm after all, but the sun was still shining high in the sky. Ida pointed out the small jellyfish in the water, the non-stinging kind. “Were you scared when you left?” he asked her. Ida looked surprised: “of course I was,” she said, “but I always assumed you weren’t. It felt less scary that way”. Per laughed: “I was so scared the entire time, I just thought you weren’t”. Ida smiled: “I guess it worked out then”. Per dove underwater for a moment to do a handstand. Maybe that had been a little too advanced. His arms gave way and he popped back above water. “We should go back to Stavanger,” he said. He wasn’t sure what had changed his mind, but in that moment he was sure of it.

The two of them climbed slowly out of the water. The granite cliffs had been warmed by the sun. Ida slowly sat down. “How about we lie here, just for a minute,” she said, “then we can go up to the red house and take a nap”. Per set his towel down carefully and lay down next to Ida. They watched the sun flicker through the trees, the clouds pass by in the sky, as their bodies were warmed by the summer sun. 

Per woke up next to Ida on the stones. He hadn’t remembered falling asleep. The fog had really come in now, turning the world white, just as Svein had said. The dock was gone, the sea was gone, the sky was gone. All that remained was the white mist, the rocks, and Ida. She wrapped herself tighter in her robe and stretched out her hand towards his. “Just like in my dream” she said softly. “Ida” he said quietly, “I don’t think we’re ever going to be going back to Stavanger”.

Audrey Vinkenes is English Studies student at the University of Helsinki and a Writer in Residence at The Creative Process 2023