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Authors: Anita Shreve
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minutes to join my brother at the top of the tree, which gave a long view
of the coastline, and which, when I had reached Evan, filled me with a sense of freedom and accomplishment that was not often
repeated in my girlhood. I remember that he smiled at me and said, “Well done,” and that shortly after I had reached Evan’s
perch, I leaned forward in my careless ebullience to see north along the Laurvigsfjord, and, in doing so, lost my balance
and nearly fell out of the tree, and almost certainly would have done had not Evan grabbed hold of my wrist and righted me.
And I recall that he did not remove his hand, but rather stayed with me in that position, his hand upon my wrist, for a few
minutes more, as we could not bear to disturb that sensation of peace and completeness that had come over us, and so it happened
that we were both late for school on that day and were chastised by having to remain after school for five days in a row,
a detention neither of us minded or complained about as I think we both felt the stricture to be pale reprimand for the thrilling
loveliness of the crime. Of course, we had been fortunate that all the time we had been in the tree no farmer had come along
the road and seen my frock in the dirt, a shocking sight in itself, and which doubtless would have resulted in our capture
and quite likely a more severe punishment of a different nature.
At school, Evan was well liked, but though he did join in the games, he did not take extra pains to become popular in the
manner of some boys of the town. He was not a boy, or ever a man, who was filled with anger or resentments as some are, and
if a wrong was done to him, he needed only to correct it, not exact a punishment for the crime. (Though I am sorry to say
that Evan was eventually to learn, as were we all, that there was no righting of the ultimate wrong that was done to him.)
In this way, I do not think I have measured up to him in character, for I have often felt myself in the sway of intense emotions
that are sinful in their origin, including those of anger and hatred.
Evan was always substantially taller than myself, and for a time was the tallest boy in the Laurvig school. Although he had
slightly crooked teeth in the front, he developed a handsome face that I believe resembled our father’s, though, of course,
I never saw my father as a younger man, and by the time I was old enough for such impressions to register, my father’s cheeks
were sunken and there were many wrinkles on his face, this as a consequence of the weathering that occurred at sea and was
a feature of most fishermen of that time.
When our schooling was finished for the year, we often had the long days together, and this was the very greatest of joys,
for the light stayed with us until nearly midnight in the midsummer.
I see us now as if I were looking upon my own self. In the woods, just west of where our home was situated, there was a little-visited
and strange geographic phenomenon known as Hakon’s Inlet, a pool of seawater that was nearly black as a consequence of both
its extraordinary depth and of the sheer black rock that formed the edges of the pool and rose straight up to a height of
thirty feet on all sides, so that this pool was, with the exception of a narrow fissure through which seawater flowed, a tall,
dark cylinder. It was said to be twenty fathoms deep, and along its walls were thin ledges that one, with some practice, could
navigate to reach the water and thus swim, or fish, or even lower a boat and paddle about. Yellow stone crop grew in the fissure,
and it was altogether a most magical place.
At this pool, on a June morning, I see a small girl of eight years of age, who is standing on a ledge, holding her dress above
the water, revealing her knees and not caring much, as there had not yet been between herself and her brother any loss of
innocence, nor indeed any need for false modesty on the
of the coastline, and which, when I had reached Evan, filled me with a sense of freedom and accomplishment that was not often
repeated in my girlhood. I remember that he smiled at me and said, “Well done,” and that shortly after I had reached Evan’s
perch, I leaned forward in my careless ebullience to see north along the Laurvigsfjord, and, in doing so, lost my balance
and nearly fell out of the tree, and almost certainly would have done had not Evan grabbed hold of my wrist and righted me.
And I recall that he did not remove his hand, but rather stayed with me in that position, his hand upon my wrist, for a few
minutes more, as we could not bear to disturb that sensation of peace and completeness that had come over us, and so it happened
that we were both late for school on that day and were chastised by having to remain after school for five days in a row,
a detention neither of us minded or complained about as I think we both felt the stricture to be pale reprimand for the thrilling
loveliness of the crime. Of course, we had been fortunate that all the time we had been in the tree no farmer had come along
the road and seen my frock in the dirt, a shocking sight in itself, and which doubtless would have resulted in our capture
and quite likely a more severe punishment of a different nature.
At school, Evan was well liked, but though he did join in the games, he did not take extra pains to become popular in the
manner of some boys of the town. He was not a boy, or ever a man, who was filled with anger or resentments as some are, and
if a wrong was done to him, he needed only to correct it, not exact a punishment for the crime. (Though I am sorry to say
that Evan was eventually to learn, as were we all, that there was no righting of the ultimate wrong that was done to him.)
In this way, I do not think I have measured up to him in character, for I have often felt myself in the sway of intense emotions
that are sinful in their origin, including those of anger and hatred.
Evan was always substantially taller than myself, and for a time was the tallest boy in the Laurvig school. Although he had
slightly crooked teeth in the front, he developed a handsome face that I believe resembled our father’s, though, of course,
I never saw my father as a younger man, and by the time I was old enough for such impressions to register, my father’s cheeks
were sunken and there were many wrinkles on his face, this as a consequence of the weathering that occurred at sea and was
a feature of most fishermen of that time.
When our schooling was finished for the year, we often had the long days together, and this was the very greatest of joys,
for the light stayed with us until nearly midnight in the midsummer.
I see us now as if I were looking upon my own self. In the woods, just west of where our home was situated, there was a little-visited
and strange geographic phenomenon known as Hakon’s Inlet, a pool of seawater that was nearly black as a consequence of both
its extraordinary depth and of the sheer black rock that formed the edges of the pool and rose straight up to a height of
thirty feet on all sides, so that this pool was, with the exception of a narrow fissure through which seawater flowed, a tall,
dark cylinder. It was said to be twenty fathoms deep, and along its walls were thin ledges that one, with some practice, could
navigate to reach the water and thus swim, or fish, or even lower a boat and paddle about. Yellow stone crop grew in the fissure,
and it was altogether a most magical place.
At this pool, on a June morning, I see a small girl of eight years of age, who is standing on a ledge, holding her dress above
the water, revealing her knees and not caring much, as there had not yet been between herself and her brother any loss of
innocence, nor indeed any need for false modesty on the
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