Lindstrøm loves nothing more than a grand parade. The city positively ripples with bunting and streamers. Leaning from windows, children wave Norwegian flags while the hands of parents clutch them tight. A crowd, twenty deep, lines the street. The sound of cheering travels in hypnotic waves across the park and unites with the church bells, which ring out in celebration. Lindstrøm cranes his neck to see the action but his gaze is intercepted by the gentle sway of spring leaves in the oak trees. So green – he has never seen a more exquisite colour. Another cheer rises from the crowd. Now he sees what all the fuss was about. It is a magnificent marching band, its imminent arrival announced by the thump, thump, thump of the big bass drum.
Lindstrøm’s eyes flicker open momentarily. He buries his head in the pillow, desperate to catch the tail of his dream before it escapes. Thump, thump, thump-thump. Ha-ha, got you, he thinks, snuggling deeper under his blanket.
Heavy boots sound on the wooden floor.
‘Good morning, my dear Lindstrøm. Have you any coffee for us?’
Such a familiar voice. Lindstrøm’s eyes flick open at the sound of it.
Stubberud is first out of his bunk. ‘Welcome,’ he says, rubbing his eyes.
‘Good God, is it you?’ Lindstrøm stares from his bunk, for a moment confused by this early morning arrival, more than a week ahead of schedule. Despite it being 4 a.m., and despite being robbed of two hours of sleep, he is quick to offer some sorely needed hospitality.
Prestrud appears, then Johansen. A slightly awkward reunion ensues – handshaking that quickly turns to bear-hugging, laughter and wild slapping on shoulders and backs. Finally somebody asks the question: ‘Have you been there?’
‘Yes, we have been there,’ is the reply that sends everyone into a renewed frenzy of bear-hugging and backslapping.
Stubberud hands Bjaaland a creased newspaper and gestures excitedly at the date. ‘Feel like reading what’s been happening in the real world?’
Bjaaland grasps the paper in both hands, his bloodshot eyes widening with disbelief.
‘We’ve been reading all about the scandal we caused back in Norway,’ says Stubberud with a grin. ‘Quite nice to make headlines.’
‘We’re going to make even bigger headlines now,’ Helmer says.
‘So the Fram’s back then,’ says Amundsen as he wriggles out of his reindeer skins.
‘Arrived on the ninth of January,’ Lindstrøm calls from the kitchen.
Prestrud can’t resist telling them, ‘And there’s the oddest little band of Japanese men in a tent down on the sea ice. Their leader’s a fellow named Shirase. Says he wants to make a dash to the pole – can you believe that?’
Amundsen frowns. ‘Well, I must tell him not to bother – we’ve checked it out and there’s absolutely nothing there to justify such a fool’s errand.’