Things weren’t so bad! Geir had his van, he had a sign on the roof that read “Eggs and Prawns.” He didn’t have many eggs and prawns in the car, but he had a place at the market, and the market was by the harbor, so he could just sit there. Day in and day out. Watch the seagulls taking off and landing, landing and taking off. Reminisce about his own time at sea. Watch the people passing by, carrying their heavy shopping bags, slipping on the ice. Today he had laughed a lot, thanks to a particular spot outside the flower shop, where no fewer than three people had fallen on their asses in a row.
* * *
Things were good. There was so much to see. So even though he didn’t exactly have a lot to do, it was far from boring sitting in his van all day, in the same place. And it wasn’t cold. He had his thermal overalls on and a trapper’s hat. And he could listen to the radio. And then that oddball Asle came along carrying a rather large stone. It looked like he was struggling; the poor guy probably didn’t have much strength, thin and weedy as he was. What was he going to do with the stone?*
Jump? Geir had to laugh.
But poor Asle. It was something to do with him not getting enough oxygen to the brain, because he’d been blowing glass for so long. He’d blown some incredible things. But in the end, he could only blow glass bubbles. Which made Geir laugh. And he hung them up in the trees! There was a tap at the window; he wound it down. It was Åsta. “Oh, is it you, Åsta?” he said, and Åsta looked at him sternly from under her red hat. It was a round, woolly hat, the red fuzz waving gently. “I see you’ve got a sea anemone on your head today,” he said, and Åsta pursed her lips. “Oh, hush, will you,” she said, and pushed her shopping cart demonstratively into the car door. “Have you got any eggs and prawns?” He turned toward the backseat as if to look, then leaned forward again. “Looks like it’s empty, sorry.” “Well, isn’t that a surprise,” Åsta said. “And yet you’ve still got a place at the market,” she said. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll have a new supply then.” “That’d be something, wouldn’t it,” Åsta said, and took hold of the cart. He rolled up the window just as she was saying something, smiled and nodded to her as she sent him an indignant look before tottering gingerly off down the road on her ice grips.
* * *
Geir looked around. There were very few people out and about at this time of morning. It must be the slippery ice that was deterring them from taking their normal walks. He grabbed a bar of chocolate that was on the seat beside him, and just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Asle standing behind the factory wall at the start of the old, rotten quay; he took a few steps out onto the rotten wood. Geir leaned toward the windshield so he could see better. What was he doing there? He rolled down the window to shout that it wasn’t safe, that the quay was rotten, that he mustn’t go any farther, but just then Asle took a couple of peculiar, heavy steps, then gathered himself and jumped. A huge splash. Geir swallowed. A chill washed through him. He looked at the backseat. At the chocolate in his hand. Gripped the steering wheel, leaned toward the windshield. He was a little bewildered now.