In the River Darkness (22 page)

I looked up at her. She looked so sad. She was probably suffering from the same sickness I was: loneliness.

I waved to Mia and her face lit up. A moment later, she came running out of the house, without a hat or a scarf. As she drew closer, her steps slowed down. A few steps away from me, Mia stopped and scraped patterns in the snow with her boot. She didn’t dare to look straight at me.

“How’s your nose, Jay?” she finally asked.

I patted my face. “Everything’s still attached, see? I think it hurt Skip more than me.”

“So, how’s he doing?” It was supposed to sound casual, but her voice was raw and sore.

“No idea, he doesn’t talk to me. But I don’t think he’s doing very well.” We both looked over to the river. Skip was a good skater, but today he was sprinting like he was possessed. He drew his circles tighter and tighter, faster and faster. I could hear how his thoughts were churning in circles, endlessly, uselessly, spinning around like a dog chasing its tail.

Mia sighed. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I got you involved in it, Jay. I used you . . . used you as a way to hurt Alex.” She fiddled with the little cross on a silver chain that my brother had given her. “I should have trusted Alex, should have told him what was going on with me. But I was too scared. Can you understand that?” she whispered so quietly I could hardly hear her. “I . . . I ruined everything.” Mia covered her face with her hands like she wanted to hide behind them. “It’s my fault that everyone’s unhappy now! I broke our blood oath!”

Gently, I pulled her hands away from her face. “It probably wasn’t in keeping with the blood oath to kiss my brother’s girlfriend, was it?” I asked.

The corners of Mia’s mouth curled into a weak smile. “Probably not.”

“So then I would be just as guilty as you. Guilt is a stupid word, anyway. I don’t believe in it. Some things we just have to do, because we can’t help it. Even if they’re wrong. At that moment, you know, I just had to kiss you, otherwise I would have exploded!”

Mia smiled, but then became serious again when I said, “Maybe some promises just can’t be kept. Because things change. And all of us change, too. I always had to promise Alina something, too . . .”

“Like what?”

“That I would never forget her. And only have eyes for her. She wanted me to have nothing but Alina in my head, nothing and no one else. But I sometimes wanted to try out new things. Vivaldi’s music. Kissing a girl. I knew for sure that Alina would be mad at me if I did.”

“But you did it anyway!”

“Yup. I broke my promise, and everything is different now.” I hadn’t ever admitted that, not even to myself, but now I said it. “I miss Alina. Everything here reminds me of her. The river. She always said, ‘The river is my heart.’”

“The river is my heart?” Mia repeated, looking at me with a confused expression. “I’ve heard that before! Your grandmother told me that . . .” She interrupted herself. I could hear how her thoughts were racing in her head. She rewound her memories to examine certain things again. Just like my recordings. Sometimes the individual sounds suddenly made sense, formed a melody.

“Who is Alina? How did you meet her?” she asked, her voice trembling a little.

I could see that Mia was freezing. “Alina was always there, ever since I can remember,” I said. “Her real name is Katarina, but when I was little, I couldn’t say the ‘r’ and called her Katalina. Later that got shortened to Alina. It was my nickname for her.”

She looked so strange. She blinked several times, as if she weren’t entirely awake. “Wait a minute . . .” she said as if in slow motion. “Do you mean to tell me that Katarina and Alina are the same . . .”

But she didn’t finish her sentence, because in that moment we both noticed it: the scraping of Skip’s ice skates had stopped! Instead, there was a silence buzzing in my ears.

I looked over toward the river. Skip had disappeared, as if the earth had swallowed him.
Or the river
. . .

“Alina!” I whispered.

Already, I knew something terrible had happened. She couldn’t get me, I was careful. But Skip . . . he didn’t have anything that could protect him anymore. Not even his silver cross necklace. Mia was wearing it now.

“What’s wrong, Jay?” I heard Mia call. It sounded more like a sob. But I had already dropped the shopping bag and started running toward the river’s edge. I had covered about half the distance when I heard his cries: “Help! Help! I fell through the ice!”

No doubt about it. That was Skip! I tried to run faster, but every step, every breath, seemed like an eternity.

“Help, why doesn’t anyone help me?”

I’m coming!
I wanted to cry, but the words were strangled before they reached my lips. My panting breath caught painfully in my chest.

There, finally! Before me stretched the milk-white curves of the river. I plunged down through the bushes, past the willows that looked like long-haired witches with their hanging branches.

When I stepped on the ice, it whispered words I couldn’t understand. I forced myself to make slow, careful movements, as if I were approaching a wild animal, wanting to gain its trust. I caressed it with my feet, even though every fiber of my being urged me to hurry, go faster, fast, fast, before it was too late.

The farther I felt my way out onto the winter river, the more horrible it got. Cracks spread out under my feet along the frozen surface of the skin. Their creaking and crackling sounded like tearing silk: d-jang! d-jang! I flinched like a whip was cracking on my back.

The cracks in the ice reminded me of a giant spiderweb—and I was stuck right in the middle of it. Far out on the river. Unsure of myself, I looked over at the shore. It was Mia! She was running toward our house. She must be getting help! I wasn’t alone after all and that gave me courage. And I surely needed it.

The ice below me was black, a lurking abyss. Its words were clearly understandable now. It whined under my every step, moaning terrible threats:
Go back, go back,
it creaked.
I’ll be the death of you!

But I didn’t turn back. “I’m n-not scared,” I sang to the river in reply. “No, I’m not afraid of you!” That was a lie. But you don’t have to be truly scared until it suddenly goes silent. That’s the moment when the river tears open its hungry old jaws to swallow you up . . . just like it wanted to swallow my brother.

To keep that from happening to me, too, I got down on all fours to distribute my weight better. The last few yards I scooted on my stomach. Just a little bit closer—then I was finally there!

The gaping wound in the ice was directly in front of me. Its jagged edges looked like broken teeth. I saw blood. And trapped in the hole, my brother! I called his name: “Skip, Skip!”

“Jay?” he whispered in disbelief, like someone who’s not sure if he’s still dreaming.

“Yes, I’m here. Give me your hand!” With an enormous effort, he stretched out his right arm, and I grabbed his hand. It was cut up badly. I felt his blood, slippery on my fingers. “Good, now the other one!”

But Skip’s left hand fell limply back into the water. “Can’t anymore . . . Jay!” he gasped. He had fought with the icy river, but now he was tired.

“Try it again, Skip!” I urged him. But already he wasn’t listening to me. Instead, his head was tilted as if he was listening to another voice, one that came out of the water.

“Do you hear that . . . she’s calling me . . . she wants me to come with her,” he whispered with an odd smile. “Our mother! She’s down there, Jay!”

I shuddered. “Don’t listen! You have to concentrate on me!” Skip didn’t answer. He was already far off and floated further and further away.

But I felt a new level of terror when I saw his eyes: the irises had turned a green-brown color, as if the river were already flowing through them. I could feel his grasp loosening.

“Don’t let go of my hand! Don’t you
dare
let go of my hand! You are not going to die on me out here, or. . . . Don’t let go, Skip, please!” I screamed at him, I cursed at him, I begged him to stay here with me. “Come on, Skip! Think of all the trips you’re still going to take, and everything else you’ll miss out on!” It was no use. I cried in desperation because he didn’t want to let me help him.

“Please, Skip! We need you more than she does!” I sobbed, and finally my words got through to him. The blue in my brother’s eyes was almost extinguished already. There was only a tiny spark of Skip left.

But that spark somehow helped him grasp my hand. Skip’s weight pulled me forward, toward the hole. The winter river was greedy. It didn’t want to release my brother. And it wanted to have me, too.

Skip moaned as he was torn in two. It was as if something—someone—were attached to his legs like a lead weight, trying to pull us underwater.

With gritted teeth, I planted my feet in the ice and resisted. My shoulders felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets. And still, I continued to slide relentlessly toward the edge of the ice . . . toward our death.

My arms were already dipping into the water. Deathly cold reached for me, climbed farther up my body on its way to my heart.

Suddenly, a tremendous rage overtook me, flowing hot through my veins. “No, Alina, you aren’t getting him!” I bellowed. “Not Skip, and not me, either! We belong to the living, do you hear me!”

There was a white form under the ice. It could have been a dead fish or a plastic bag . . . or a face pressed against the ice from below! With my last ounce of energy, I screamed at it: “This is
our
life, Alina! You won’t steal it from us!”

I don’t know how we did it. Maybe she finally did let go, let us go. I only know that somehow we were back on firm ice. We lay there motionless, completely drained and exhausted, holding each other.

We were safe now, but I was afraid Skip might still die. He was entirely white, and so cold, in spite of my efforts to warm him.

But then I saw his eyes slowly gain back their blue, the blue of the ocean, and then I knew that Alina had lost.

Wednesday, January 22, nighttime

Dear Alex,

I’ve heard that you’re doing better now. You sure gave us a scare! Jay, your father, your grandma—and me.

But I’m not writing you because you almost drowned. I’m writing because I have to explain a few things to you. I should have done it a long time ago. It’s so hard to find the right words! This is my fifth try. The others all landed in the garbage can. This time, though, I’m going to just keep on writing and put the letter in your mailbox tomorrow. This time I won’t wimp out again!

You should finally know the truth, my truth.

Everything started a year and a half ago, when my parents decided to move here. I was so mad at them. They treated me like a dumb little kid that didn’t have a say in anything, even though I was already fifteen!

That was around the time I met Nicolas. I hung out with the smokers at school, and he asked me if I had a light. I did. Nicolas was three years ahead of me in school and had his own car. How unbelievably cool and grown up he seemed!

“That boy is too old for you, Mia!” my parents protested. But what did they know? I couldn’t explain to them that my friends envied me because I was going out with such a cool guy. I couldn’t tell them how fantastic I felt when he looked at me with this desire in his eyes that was completely new to me and made my skin tingle.

The more my mother complained, the more appealing it was for me to meet with Nicolas secretly. Finally, there was a chance to invite him over to my house. My parents were visiting some friends that night. The minute the door closed behind them, I put a bottle of wine in the fridge to chill. I had prepared everything, even bought him flowers, yellow roses that I put in a crystal vase. They filled the living room with an inviting fragrance. I scattered a few rose petals over the sofa. They felt like silk on my skin.

I wanted . . . actually, I have no idea what I wanted. Probably everything you see in the movies: love, closeness, happiness. Everything larger than life. Maybe I just wanted someone to finally recognize me, to see in me the woman I wanted to become. Beautiful, confident, grown up. The woman my parents refused to see. Pretty naïve, isn’t it?

After Nicolas arrived, we sat on the sofa in the living room. “Nice place you have here,” he said, checking out my parents’ antiques. Because I was so nervous and didn’t really know what should happen next, I drank a glass of wine. And then another one.

We made out for a while, and then I finally got up the nerve to ask him if I should play something on the cello for him.

I played my favorite piece for him, the largo from Vivaldi’s “Winter” concerto, that sounds so much like thawing snow. While I plucked the strings, I hoped Nicolas could hear my true self resonating in the notes.

After just a few measures, I already felt his hand on my knee. “Nice,” he said, and started kissing me again. And then somehow we were lying on the sofa. Nicolas pushed himself on me and suddenly had his hands everywhere. Under my T-shirt. Under my skirt. Between my legs.

It all went so fast, I hardly knew what was happening. Halfheartedly, I tried to push Nicolas away. He asked me why I was so skittish. “You want it, too,” he said and just kept on going—ignored me saying no.

I was so upset and disoriented, and my head was spinning from the wine. Was Nicolas right? Hadn’t I provoked him? At some point, I gave up and just let things happen to me.

When Nicolas was finally finished, he stood up to get dressed. “Where are you going?” I asked, confused.

“Leaving. I’m out of here,” he said as he pulled up his jeans. He bumped into my cello, which was leaning against the coffee table. It crashed to the ground with a dissonant clatter. I heard one of the tuning pegs splinter and break. “Piece of crap!” Nicolas spat, pushing it with his foot.

The sound of the broken strings resonated through the room like the moaning of a wounded animal. I started to cry. Nicolas looked at me, irritated. “What are you crying about now? This stupid wooden box? I’ll give you the money to fix it.” Then he left, just walked out the door, leaving me behind with my broken cello.