by Rijn Collins
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\n\u201cSk\u00e5l, mine venner!\u201d<\/p>\n
I feel the words tumble around my mouth, grappling for a foothold. \u00a0The vodka has numbed my tongue and the cold has done the same to my fingers, but I raise my glass with the rest of them and shout \u201cCheers, my friends!\u201d in Norwegian with a bad Australian accent.<\/p>\n
Per wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smiles my way. \u00a0The gap between his teeth holds my attention, and when he speaks, it takes me a moment to realise it\u2019s in English.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou really born on the Winter Solstice?\u201d<\/p>\n
I lick my lips.\u00a0 \u201c\u2018I was, yes. \u00a0Winter wench to my core \u2013 although in Australia, that\u2019s in June.\u201d<\/p>\n
He slides a stream of vodka into my glass, and shows me that gap once more.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere in Norway, do you know what being born on the Solstice means?\u201d<\/p>\n
I shake my head, and reach for the glass.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt means you\u2019re a witch.\u201d<\/p>\n
I feel it burn my lips, my tongue, my throat. \u00a0I try not to cough. \u00a0I\u2019m pretty sure witches can handle their booze.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut with red hair like yours, you already are.\u201d<\/p>\n
I think he might be flirting with me. \u00a0I think I\u2019ve had a few glasses. \u00a0I think maybe I am a witch, and I just never realised it. \u00a0But what I know <\/em>without a shadow of a doubt <\/em>is that I\u2019ve never in my life been so cold.<\/p>\n And you know you\u2019re an obsessive smoker when you\u2019ll head into a beer garden even in sub-zero temperatures to slide that stick into your mouth and watch the flame flicker. \u00a0It\u2019s only my third day in the hostel, but faces are already familiar, and this pot belly stove out the back of the bar seems like the best place to pick up the names to go with them.\u00a0 My Norwegian is improving one phrase at a time, unaided by the guidebook that finds it necessary to teach me the enigmatic line \u201cThe first thing I\u2019ll need is a top hat.\u201d<\/p>\n I don\u2019t know what these Norwegians get up to, but I\u2019m keen to find out.<\/p>\n I haven\u2019t got my snow legs yet, and my army boots keep slipping on the slick patches of ice scattered around us, but there\u2019s always someone to catch me. \u00a0Our breath clouds out before us each time we speak and I have pins and needles in my hands, but the moonlight falling across the snow makes it all gloriously worthwhile. We raise our glasses.<\/p>\n \u201cTo Gj\u00f8vik, the best hometown in the world!\u201d<\/p>\n Clinks shoot through the night air, and more warmth rushes down my throat. \u00a0I want to toast this magical land too, but for some reason the first thing that flicks across my mind is the 80s pop band, A-Ha. \u00a0I don\u2019t think that\u2019d make me any friends tonight.<\/p>\n We lift our glasses again. \u00a0\u201cTo Skadi!\u201d is the cry, and I raise my eyebrows.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s the goddess of winter… the Solstice is her night.\u201d<\/p>\n Per nods at me.<\/p>\n \u201cShe hunts on skis in the mountain with a bow and arrow. \u00a0Also has a thing for bare feet.\u201d <\/em>He winks. \u00a0\u201cChose her husband by lining up the gods and selecting the best feet. \u00a0Kinky little minx, hey?\u201d<\/p>\n I laugh, clasping the vodka glass to my chest.<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you celebrate Midwinter then?\u201d<\/p>\n I watch the lit ember of a cigarette end arc through the air as he gestures. \u00a0Several people huddled around the ashtray watch him, smiling.<\/p>\n \u201cMidvinterblot? \u00a0We make white cakes, and drink Akevitt, strong liquor flavoured with caraway seeds.\u201d<\/p>\n Someone else joins in, voice warm and deep.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t forget the winter goat!\u201d<\/p>\n Per laughs, and my eyes land on the gap between his teeth again.<\/p>\n \u201cWe have this goat, you see \u2013 Julbukk. \u00a0He used to carry the god Thor, but now he carries the Yule elf when he brings gifts to all the children.\u201d<\/p>\n He smiles at me as glasses clink.<\/p>\n \u201cWe love that damn goat!\u201d<\/p>\n This sounds reasonable. \u00a0It sound festive and pagan and utterly, beautifully Norwegian and when the mission is set to find a goat, it seems the only thing in the world to do. \u00a0We lace up our coats and pull down fur-lined caps, and tuck half empty bottles of vodka into pockets. \u00a0Tonight belongs to Skadi, and when the cry goes out to trek barefoot in honour of her, I don\u2019t hesitate to untie my army boots and sling them over my shoulder.<\/p>\n Bare feet crunching on snow, we head into the Winter Solstice night to find a goat. by Rijn Collins \u201cSk\u00e5l, mine venner!\u201d I feel the words tumble around my mouth, grappling for a foothold. \u00a0The vodka has numbed my tongue and the cold has done the same to my fingers, but I raise my glass with … Continue reading
\nI\u2019ve never seen anything so beautiful.<\/p>\n
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\nRIJN COLLINS<\/strong> is a Melbourne writer with a background in Linguistics, a future in Berlin, and an ever growing collection of red notebooks to scribble in. Her work has been published in Going Down Swinging<\/em>, The Age<\/em>, Eclecticism<\/em>, Notata<\/em> and various print anthologies and online journals, and has been adapted for performance on Radio National. She prefers spilling ink in cold climates, and is headed to Berlin to work on her novel, which will involve more red notebooks, and no doubt whiskey too. Snakes work their way into her writing often. She\u2019s still not quite sure why.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"