Ice Trilogy (95 page)

He turned his gaze to the circle of dead. He looked at it for a long time, trying to understand. His head shuddered and shook back and forth. Then he stood up cautiously. The rising sun illuminated his large, stooped figure. Swaying a bit, he took a step. Olga embraced him. They stood still, supporting each other. Bjorn took another step. He stopped. He took another step. And slowly walked along the circle of the dead. Olga moved behind him. Bjorn walked, swaying, looking intently at the bodies lying there. He passed by several, stopped, went over to a woman. He leaned over. Her face, distorted in a grimace of bewilderment, stared at the sky. The glassy gaze of the departed woman reproached the sky for her death and for the death of the Great Brotherhood. Bjorn stood there, swaying back and forth, without the strength to tear himself away from the gaze of those glassy light-blue eyes, and their eternal heart injured. Olga came up to him, embraced him, pressed against him. Together they looked at the dead Brothers and Sisters of the Light.

“T
h...
t
h...
the
y..
.” Bjorn wheezed.

“The
y..
.” Olga whispered.

He moved to the side and lowered himself onto the marble. Olga sat down next to him. They sat in silence for a long time, their heads bowed.

The sun rose, gained strength, and blazed.

The white marble plateau of the island sparkled under its rays.

Bjorn stirred, raised his head, and kneeled.

“Thi
s..
.” said Bjorn, shaking and stuttering. “Thi
s..
.”

“What?” Olga whispered.

“Everything.”

“What?”

“I mea
n...
all thi
s..
.” He slapped the palm of his hand on the marble, on Olga’s shoulder, on his leg. “All of this her
e...
was done. It was created. Strong. Very. And the
y...
crashed against it. They all crashed.”

He suddenly stopped, shaking with emotion. Olga also froze, and stopped breathing.

“But this. This was al
l...
done” — he took a deep breath — “for us.”

Olga, leaning on the marble, didn’t breathe.

“For us,” Bjorn said more resolutely.

And suddenly he smiled feebly.

“For us!” he repeated.

“For us,” Olga repeated.

Bjorn stared straight into her eyes.

“And this was all done by God,” he declared.

“By God?” Olga asked cautiously.

“By God,” he declared.

“By God,” Olga answered.

“By God!” he said with certainty.

“By God.” Olga exhaled, shaking.

“By God!” he said in a loud voice.

“By God!” Olga gave a nod.

“By God!” he said even louder.

“By God!” Olga nodded again.

“By God!” he shouted out.

“By God,” she whispered.

They stopped still, looking into each other’s eyes.

“I want to talk to God,” Bjorn said.

“So do I,” Olga declared.

“I nee
d...
need to tell God. A lot of things. I have to talk to Him.” Bjorn thought hard. “But how do I do it?”

Olga said nothing.

“How to do it?” Bjorn asked.

“We have to return to people. And ask them.”

“What?”

“How to speak with God. Then you can tell Him everything. And I can too.”

They grew silent.

A weak sea breeze slipped over their naked bodies.

Bjorn rose from his knees, glanced at the wide bridge piled with clothes and at the enormous light-blue ship, rising above the pier like an iceberg. A flaming crimson heart adorned its deckhouse. But it reminded Bjorn not of the Brotherhood of the Light but of the World of People. Bjorn held out his hand to Olga.

“Let us go!”

Olga stood up and gave him her hand. And they went off, their bare feet stepping across the sun-warmed marble.