Punished

22. Marge

MARGE

1954

The coins were sweaty in Marge’s palm, inside her knitted mitten. Housemother had mercifully dealt out their ration of the five- and ten-ore coins they’d brought from home to do the week’s shopping at the village store. It was already getting dark, and soon the sun wouldn’t rise at all. It disappeared in early December and would only return above the horizon a few days into January.

Marge followed close behind Biret and Else-Maj. She didn’t like walking in the dark, and she wanted to be sure of whose voice she was hearing. Her best friend, Sylvia, walked beside her, rattling off all the candy she planned to buy. Sylvia always had a bit more money than everyone else and bought the most. Marge often had the least, and she pretended that she didn’t want to spend all her money, as though she were saving up for something special. Each time she said so, she couldn’t help but notice the big girls raise their eyebrows. She wasn’t poor, she didn’t want them to think that, but Enná never sent her with enough extra money and Marge didn’t want to ask for more. Because, yes, in the end her family probably was a little bit poor. The slaughter hadn’t gone well this year, she understood that much. It had been hard for the reindeer to find enough food at pasture and many of them starved to death. So she couldn’t ask for more money to buy candy. She would rather put on a cheerful face and say that too much sugar would give you cavities. But the other girls didn’t listen, chewing caramels that turned to strings in their mouths.

They stomped the snow off their feet outside and went in. The store had an L-shaped counter with the register next to the door. Dry goods were kept on the wall behind the clerk, and the counter’s glass panes protected tubs of candy, colorful and tempting. The children were allowed to buy whatever they wanted, and most chose sweets. Marge always waited for the others to pick theirs, so they would be too busy comparing purchases to think about what she was getting. Sylvia filled her bag so much that it almost wouldn’t close. Else-Maj bought a lot too, and everyone knew she would save at least half of it for Sara. Her little sister had gotten sick and been sent home, but Else-Maj wouldn’t talk about it. Not a peep, she warned them, and the girls hardly dared to whisper about it among themselves. Else-Maj wanted to go home to be with Sara, Marge knew, but she wasn’t allowed. Soon it would be Christmas and then everyone would go home. Marge folded her hands every night and said a slapdash prayer for Sara to get better. She really didn’t want to turn to God, but who else was there? She missed Enná, who would have put her arms around her, comforted and reassured her.

“What’ll it be for you, then?”

Ragnar, the owner, had a big belly and chapped red hands. Marge always felt shy around him, fearing her Swedish wasn’t good enough. She preferred to gesture rather than speak. First she pointed at the candy she wanted, and then she used her fingers to show how many. Her favorites were the lemon drops, the caramels in paper wrappers, and the cute little red bears. Her bag was hardly halfway full, and she stuffed it into her coat pocket. The others were already munching away, and Marge sniffed their breath, so wonderful and sweet.

On the way home they got the giggles. Even Else-Maj. The shadow across her face lightened for a moment. Marge still hadn’t eaten a single piece of candy.

“Are you saving up again?” Else-Maj’s full mouth made her speech garbled. “A person would think you don’t like candy.”

She didn’t have time to respond.

“Did you hear Nilsa stole what Jon-Ante just bought?” Sylvia addressed the big girls. “He had almost a whole bagful and suddenly it was gone.”

Else-Maj’s face clouded over again, and Marge wished Sylvia hadn’t said anything.

“One day I’m going to kill Nilsa.” Else-Maj kicked at the snow. “Going after the little ones like that.”

“He was also the one who left Jon-Ante in the shed by the cemetery,” Sylvia said.

But they all knew that already. It had happened last fall, and Nilsa had gotten away with it. Jon-Ante never tattled. Not even when that stuff happened to his hand. Marge didn’t want to think about it; her insides burned the second that memory surfaced. It scared her to hear Else-Maj talk like that.

“You can’t go after Nilsa, he’s so big,” she said. “He beats everyone up.”

“He does worse things to the girls,” said Biret.

“I’m going to kill him for all of it.”

“You could kill Aslak, that would be easier,” Biret went on. “That would torture Nilsa. Just wait until he leaves school, and Aslak is left here on his own. They’ll get their revenge then.”

“What? Where did you hear that?” Else-Maj looked skeptical.

“A bunch of the boys say so, they can’t handle Nilsa, but Aslak, that chicken, they can take him.”

“It’s not Aslak’s fault that his brother is mean,” Sylvia said, but Biret scoffed.

“Aslak is always right there with Nilsa.”

“He’s probably too scared not to be,” said Else-Maj.

That was surely true. Marge looked at her with admiration, she was so smart. “Don’t fight with anyone, Else-Maj,” she pleaded.

“If I get the chance to push Nilsa down the stairs, I’ll do it. But I would never touch Aslak. Unless he picks a fight with me.”

Marge didn’t understand where her courage came from. Else-Maj was so tiny. Nilsa could sit on her, and she would be dead. Flattened and dead.

Maybe the big girls heard the crackle, or maybe they just had sharp eyes. When they looked up, it was right there. Straight overhead. Long yellow-green tails winding across the sky, shifting to blue and forming waves over the village.

“Look down!” Else-Maj snapped, tugging at Marge’s arm. “Run!”

They ran, Marge with a lump in her throat. This was what happened when you talked about killing people. Even if it was someone like Nilsa. Else-Maj was fast and left the others far behind. Marge’s candy bag bumped against her hip, and she wished she’d eaten it all. Sylvia looked close to tears by the time they reached the door to the dormitory. Else-Maj was already there, yanking on the handle.

“It’s locked!”

Guovssahasat lit up the schoolyard and vanished just as quickly, but then flashed with renewed strength from a different direction. Marge couldn’t help but glance up. The aurora was as tempting as the call of the háldi.

Else-Maj and Biret pounded wildly on the door and shouted for someone to open it. They even shouted in Sámi. “Raba!”

Nilsa’s face popped up in the window of the brown wooden door. He laughed at them. Biret pounded harder. Nilsa had enough sense to run off before Housemother arrived and saw him.

“Just look down,” said Else-Maj, leaning her head against the door.

Marge thought she could see tears, and she was surprised—Else-Maj never cried. But of course, the northern lights were a bad omen. The tails of light danced across the starry sky to bring a warning.

The lock turned and there stood Housemother. “Are you completely out of your minds? Were you planning to beat down the door?”

Else-Maj didn’t wait to be reprimanded; she stormed past her and up the stairs.

Marge and the other two were left behind. Housemother didn’t seem to know whether she should follow Else-Maj or shout at the girls in front of her.

“The northern lights,” Marge whispered.

The other girls’ eyes grew wide. To think that Marge, out of all of them, had dared to speak. Not only to try to explain to Housemother, but that she named the unnameable. Marge wanted to take shelter, though, and that meant she had to be the one who spoke first, for once.

“You people and your idiotic, made-up ideas! It’s just the northern lights! Lights in the sky, and nothing more.”

No, Housemother didn’t care about what frightened them. She would never understand.

“Who locked the door?” she asked sternly. “Did you see?”

Marge shrugged. Housemother opened her mouth to say more but gave up; she looked tired as she shooed them off, so they rushed upstairs and into their dormitory. Marge’s glasses had fogged up and she carried them in her hand. Else-Maj was lying flat on the bed with her face buried in her pillow. Marge wanted to pat her, but at the same time she wanted comfort from the big girls. Sylvia held her hand, and they stood around Else-Maj, unsure what to do. Finally Biret sat down on the bed. But what was there to say? Marge felt sick for having spoken about guovssahasat. It had just slipped out.

Biret undid her coat and removed her hat. “We didn’t shout. We didn’t point. We didn’t look.” She said it slowly and firmly, as though to soothe them. Marge squeezed Sylvia’s hand harder; she had both looked and spoken. There was no need for Else-Maj to cry, but Marge should. She looked around the dormitory. In one corner, a few girls had gathered on a bed, looking equally terrified. The curtains were drawn—at least someone had seen to that.

Biret waved the little ones off and they went to sit on Marge’s bed. Sylvia took out her big bag of candy and opened it, held it out right in Marge’s face. “Take as much as you want.”

She saw her favorites there, but her hands rested heavily in her lap.

Sylvia rustled the bag, selected one for herself, and smacked loudly. “Váldde. Take some.”

Marge dug in cautiously and fished out the ones she liked best. Held them in her palm. “Can I give one to Jon-Ante?”

Sylvia stopped chewing, glanced up, and shrugged. “Sure.”

“I feel sorry for him.”

That was true enough. But there was another idea behind her question. Could she make up for her mistake? Could you convince the powers of the northern lights to forgive a slip-up by doing a good deed? She didn’t know, but she had to try. Enná would have known, Enná would have been able to tell her just how dangerous it was, what she’d done. Maybe she was giving her favorite candies away for no reason. She began to waver and brought her hand to her face, inhaling the sweet scent. But then she made up her mind and held the pieces in both hands as though she were praying with upturned palms. She padded across the room and down the stairs, looking for Jon-Ante among the boys, on down to the common room in the cellar. She found him sitting alone, as she’d seen him do many times before. He sat perfectly still, staring at nothing. He was startled when he noticed her, tried to make himself look busy, but there was nothing to fiddle with.

“Are you here because…” She paused. She didn’t know how to ask about the northern lights, and she didn’t want to talk about Nilsa. She stuck out her hands and showed him her treasure. “Want some?”

He shook his head. She held her ground.

“Eat it up all at once. That way he can’t take this, too.”

Jon-Ante rubbed his nose before he reached out, but then he remembered the state of his right hand and quickly switched to his left. She dropped the candy into his palm.

“The caramel kind is my very favorite. What’s yours?” she asked.

He had already peeled off the paper and popped it in his mouth.

“Watch out so your loose tooth doesn’t get stuck in it,” she said, smiling.

“Caramels are my favorite too,” he said.

Marge was still wearing her coat; she reached into the bag of candy in her pocket and withdrew a caramel. They chewed, pulling funny faces when the caramel caught on their teeth in strings. It made them giggle.