40. Jon-Ante
JON-ANTE
1986
He had thought about her all fall and winter. Especially while underground, drinking his black coffee and turning his back on the guys, that’s when Marge popped into his mind. He should have called her after Children’s Day to see how she was doing. But at the same time, wasn’t it on her to call and thank him? He’d seen in the phone book that she lived on Kyrkogatan and he’d driven by there a few times, cruising up and down the steep hill and peering into windows, but he didn’t know which were hers. He’d hoped to see her walking up the street, but it never happened. Then he realized maybe she’d spotted his car and wanted nothing to do with him, and that’s why she never called. At that point he stopped driving by—or at least he stopped doing it quite so often.
This past fall he’d decided to replace a few parts of the car, and Classe convinced him to use a spot in their garage. The parts arrived in the mail in October and by that time it was too cold to tinker in his own garage, so he’d had to give in and thank Classe for the help. Just for a little while, he told himself, but that “little while” turned into months. Whenever he wasn’t at work he was in the garage, and soon winter made way for spring. Suddenly the eaves were dripping and the ice fishers were out on Luossa Lake again and the big fishing opener, Rautaspremi?r, had come and gone. He rode his snowmobile up with Classe, who had his shack out on the ice, and it ended up being one of Jon-Ante’s better weekends. He came home with plenty of char and thought of Marge again, how he would have liked to invite her to dinner.
In the end, he actually did give her a call, saying he was on his way to the village for Easter and asking if she wanted a lift. It was so silly, calling after months to ask if she needed a ride. His face turned bright red as he held the receiver like a lead weight.
“I have my own car,” she said.
“Oh, I know, but last time I saw you, you mentioned it was always breaking down and in the shop, so I thought, you know, might as well check.”
“Did I say that? I guess I said a lot of things that night, how embarrassing.” But he could tell she was smiling. “It’s nice of you to think of me.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have been the fancy car,” he said, attempting a laugh. “That one’s waiting for summer. But I do have another car.” Oh God, how dumb did he sound? But she didn’t hang up.
“I bet Estela would like to see your car sometime.”
At that, he almost pulled the coiled cord straight as he leaped with joy in the front hall. “For sure! We’ll make it happen. And listen, maybe we can meet up in Sohppar, over Easter, I mean. We’ve got two tame reindeer at our place. Maybe Estela would like to meet them.”
“Oh, fun! She’ll be overjoyed. She’s going to be a reindeer herder, she says. With áddjá.”
They talked for hours. He ended up being late to work, which had never happened before.
And now, here they were in the village, and he’d been waiting all morning. At last he spotted them coming in the distance. The little girl held Marge’s hand firmly and they swung their arms as they came down the road. They jogged the last bit and Jon-Ante noticed that they didn’t let go of each other even after they arrived and were standing in the yard.
“Hi! I’m Jon-Ante,” he said with a smile.
“And this is—” That was as far as Marge got.
“Stella! My mom is always saying it wrong.”
There was a sudden shift in Marge’s expression, but she recovered quickly and smiled. “Right. My daughter.”
“Where are the reindeer?” Stella asked.
“Listen,” Jon-Ante said, cupping his hand around his ear.
They fell quiet, and he watched as Stella listened with all her might, even cautiously lifting her pink hat away to hear better.
“I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.
“You will. Just wait.”
A magpie flew up to the telephone line and a snowmobile whined somewhere in the distance. Then there it was, softly, the jingling. Stella leaped into action and looked toward the trees behind the house.
“There?” she asked, pointing.
Jon-Ante nodded and she tugged at Marge. Behind the shed, just where the birch forest welcomed you in, stood the reindeer, one white and one brown, tethered to a line but able to move several meters in any direction. They looked at Stella and she suddenly grew shy and took a step behind her enná. Marge looked delighted. It made Jon-Ante ridiculously happy.
“A white reindeer! Can I pet it?”
“Of course. We’ll give them some lichen and they’ll be your friends right away.” He got down the bag of lichen that hung from a skinny birch and let Stella dig up a big fistful. He took some as well.
“What are their names?”
“Why, we forgot to name them.”
“Are they your reindeer?”
“No, my brother’s.”
“Don’t you have any reindeer of your own?”
Jon-Ante glanced at Marge, but she only had eyes for her daughter. “Yes, I have reindeer, but my brothers usually take care of them. But of course this summer I’ll be going with them to Norway when it’s time to mark the calves.”
“How do you mark the calves?”
“áddjá’s told you that, sweetie,” Marge said, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “You make a mark in their ears.”
“Yes, you cut them with a knife,” Stella said, clearly concerned.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Jon-Ante said, and at last Marge looked at him and mouthed a giitu. Thanks.
“I want to see the calves too, Mama.”
“You two will come up, won’t you? Everyone comes along. You can either walk or take a helicopter.”
Stella’s mouth fell open. “A helicopter!”
“I’m too scared,” Marge said. “I’ve always walked.”
“But I’ll be there to hold your hand.” The little girl said what he wanted to say.
The reindeer had spotted the lichen and came lumbering over. Stella bravely stayed put and reached out her arm and hand, as straight and as far as she could. The gray-brown reindeer nibbled cautiously, barely brushing her red mitten.
“Now I’ll feed it, and you can pet it.”
Stella seemed to have been hypnotized by the reindeer’s eyes, but she snapped out of it and patted its neck. A smile appeared on her face. Now the white reindeer had joined in and was nudging her arm.
“We need more lichen.”
Marge rustled around in the bag and hardly had time to hand Stella the food before the white reindeer snatched it up.
“I think we should name them,” the girl said eagerly, petting both reindeer at once.
“You can’t name other people’s reindeer,” Marge said.
“I think my brother will be okay with it.” Jon-Ante winked at her.
“I have to think up good names.” Stella’s expression became contemplative. The bells around the reindeer’s necks jingled close to her and she leaned against the white one. “They’re not scared. Neither am I.”
“No, tame reindeer are used to people. But the reindeer out in the wilderness, they’re timid.”
“I was at the separation and they were running around like crazy, around and around. You couldn’t pet any of them.”
“So you were here in November?” Jon-Ante asked, and Marge nodded.
“The slaughter was a little hard for her that time,” she whispered in Sámi.
Stella glanced up. “No fair! I can’t understand.”
“I just said you thought it was fun, but maybe a little scary at the same time.”
“I’m not scared when I stand next to áddjá. No reindeer run over him, and he never misses when he throws the lasso.”
The lichen was gone, and the reindeer were losing interest; the white one had already retreated to the trees. Stella gave the other one a few quick pets before it, too, walked away through the snow.
“I love reindeer,” she declared in a reverential voice. “But now I’m done and I want to go back and see áhkku again.”
Jon-Ante could tell that Marge was hesitant.
“Can you run home by yourself?”
Stella eyed them with suspicion. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing special, angel. I just want to talk to Jon-Ante for a bit.”
“I told you, I’m not an angel! What are you going to talk about? I want to hear.”
“But you and áhkku were going to put the feathers on the birch twigs and dye eggs.”
“I want you to do it too.” Now she had planted herself like a tiny wall in front of her enná, perhaps sensing a threat to their twosome.
“I suppose I should go,” Marge said, and he felt sure she wasn’t disappointed. Quite the opposite; she wanted to leave. He was so stupid, she probably just wanted to show Stella the reindeer.
“Of course, I understand.”
“I’ll come pet the reindeer again,” Stella said, tugging Marge off by the arm. “And next time I’ll give them names.”
They held hands and Marge swung their arms faster as they set off along the village road.
“Thank you,” she called, turning around and waving with her free hand.
He gave a little nod.
“How do you name reindeer, Mama?” he heard Stella ask before their voices faded away.