Anatomy of a Rescue [Post-FF]

[Rickard Reynolds]

Siri sat down and gave him some of the bread she'd bought from the restaurant back at Calanque Saint Pierre. She tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and watched him through narrowed eyes as he ate the bread slowly. He had been near to death and starved for certain when she found him. The dog that had led her to him had not left his side, and she was amused by the fact that whether or not he liked it, he had himself a loyal companion. She wasn't sure yet if she trusted him, but she had to tell herself that there was no reason to fear him. He needed her help. In the world of relationships, when one stranger needed another stranger to help him function, that constituted a dependent relationship, and it certainly left the dependent person in a vulnerable position. She had the upper hand in this one with the man, before her. Siri didn't know much about relationships; most of hers had ended without much explanation: they were more whimpers than bangs at the end. Spending time with a man over whom she had the upper hand was a new feeling for her. Gerard hardly let her have any independence, so spending time away from him always filled her up with a sense of longing for the person she had been before him. She knew that in the world of polite company, she ought to have spent more time with her fiancé, but the pull toward her old skin was stronger than ever these days. Besides, spending time with this man meant she had less time to spend with Gerard. Maybe someday she would think differently of him.

From their location beneath a tree sparse with branches, caught in swaying motion, they could see the water and the famous Bec L'Aingle across it. The Eagle's Point was an outcropping of rocks that shot not vertically but at a diagonal angle out over its base so that it looked like a finger pointing away from Ile Verte. Siri had wanted to climb it and look out across the Mediterranean. Instead, she looked down at the man at her feet. A strand of hair fell loose and she tucked it behind her ear once more. He appeared to be taking the food well, though he chewed perhaps more than he ought to have. Siri wondered what had caused him to wash ashore like he had; had he been in a storm at sea? The Newfoundland dog sat alert and listened to the noises behind them: tourists were unloading at the dock once more. Siri sensed the same thing she believed the dog had sensed: soon, they wouldn't be alone anymore.

The man's eyes were wild, perhaps by nature but probably from starvation and the shock of survival. He had cuts all over his face, suggesting that he had lost control of himself while out at sea and that he'd met some sharp edges before making landfall. On cue, the dog pranced over and began to lick the lacerations on his face, despite his protests. Briefly, ever so briefly, the man's eyes met Siri's, and she could see that he was human; it was the only thing about him that she could recognize.

"Okay," she said, finally when the curiosity was too much for her to bear. "What's your story?" She was direct by nature, and it had only failed her in school. In the adult world, her directness had been labeled other things: callous, brazen, forward, and sometimes even bold. For the most part, Siri didn't care what she was called as long as she got answers. All she wanted was answers and no games. The man didn't look at her again, but instead he seemed to look out across the sea. She wasn’t going to let his drawn-out silence be an excuse not to answer her. "You can talk, I know that. So...?" She prodded him again. Subtly, he shrugged in an exaggerated slow motion. She mimicked his shrugging and made a noise of impatience. "So... what's your name?"
Finally, he answered. "I'm called Lars Janssen." His voice was accented but not heavily. Siri could tell he was from somewhere in the Far North, not just by his given name and surname; but she could also tell that he spoke English more often than not. She had been good at geography in grade school and she put her knowledge to use, conjuring a map of Europe before her eyes in mid-air. She pushed away the parts that didn't hold relevance to her in this moment and she zoomed in on the parts in the North; he'd spoken Russian, so with a surname like Janssen, he could be either Finnish with Danish ancestry, or Danish and living in an urban area where English was spoken regularly. There was a possibility that he was Norwegian, but it wasn't a strong possibility in Siri's mind. She blotted out Norway on her map and focused on Denmark, Finland, and Iceland. Might he be Icelandic?

"Lars Janssen," Siri repeated. She crossed her arms and sighed. "Well, it is a start. I am Sigrid Bederd. Call me Siri, though. I hate my given name." Lars looked at her then, and she was stopped in her tracks. He was very human beneath that lacerated face. Moreover, in his humanity, Siri saw something very vulnerable and shocking: pain. "You are hurting," she stated in a gentler voice. His expression hardened and he shut her out suddenly.

"Thank you for the food, Siri," he replied, looking out to the sea again.

[Rickard Reynolds]

"Did you get shipwrecked?" Siri tried. She felt him emanating a coldness of the same sort of coldness she got from other men when they put a good distance between her and them. She could tell Lars was doing the same right now with her, but she didn't want the distance to lengthen. With others who put her at a distance, she didn't care too much if they drifted away or got over themselves being juvenile; with Lars, because she had seen his humanity and his pain, she wanted the distance to go away. She tried to move closer to him, but the remoteness he was giving off his person hit her in the stomach and knocked the wind out of her. She sputtered for air and stepped back again to leave a healthy amount of room between them. "Do you want help?" She asked when she'd regained her breath.

"I didn't ask for it," Lars responded coldly. "But..." He softened his tone, revealing his humanity again. "If you must leave me, then go. I don't mind if you stay though. Just don't ask me questions I can't answer."

"What can I ask you then," Siri prodded gently. "Where did you come from?"

Lars shook his head. "Underwater. There was a secret place underwater," he began but then he stopped himself and did not speak again. The significance of his words faded until it seemed that the sentence had ended completely. Siri marked that discussion as off-limits.

"And before that? Where?"

"North. But," Lars looked over at her again and took her breath away. It was as if he was casting a spell on her. If only such things were real. "You already knew that, didn't you, Sigrid Bederd? Where did you come from? Not France for sure."

"Guess," Siri challenged him.

"Canada. Quebec to be exact. Your French is both informal and antiquated. Only the Canadians speak it like that."

"Perhaps you are right. But I also speak Russian, as you found out for yourself." She challenged him again. "How many Canadians can speak Russian?"

"Statistically?" Lars responded resolutely. "Nearly 1%, which is just over 330,000 Canadians. That makes you not terrifically unique." He was more direct and cold than Siri could imagine she appeared to be; it was an odd feeling being on the other side of that directness. She frowned. "But," Lars continued with a smile slowly appearing on his face, and a twinkle appearing in his eyes. "You are very unique to me. Siri Bederd. Please don't mistake my calculations as offensive." He had softened alarmingly fast and so much so that Siri almost mistook his statement for an apology. "To you, I feel I owe my life." She couldn't help feeling charmed by him. He was completely different when he smiled, when his eyes twinkled: he was lovable, handsome, sexy even. Siri smiled back and looked away.

"I'm not that easy to offend," she replied. "But thank you for explaining yourself." She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen, and the sun momentarily blinded her as it reflected off her engagement ring.

"So, was I correct?" Lars asked.

"Almost," Siri replied. "I live in French Canada, yes. But that's not where I'm from."

"Don't tell me where," Lars said playfully. "I want to guess." She felt him studying her in the silence that followed, and it drew on for long enough that she began to feel they were being inappropriate. To hasten things along, she cleared her throat.

"Time's up," she said quickly, disguising her quivering voice.

"Of course," Lars said softly. "You're from the North too."

"More specifically?" Siri challenged, curious to know how he was able to study her and then be so close to accurate with his guesses.

"Based on your name, Sigrid, either Norway or Sweden. I wouldn’t rule out Greenland either but it is unlikely." He took another moment of pause and then made his final answer. "Norway," he said, almost certain he was correct.

Siri didn't have much time to correct Lars before her almost-friends arrived on the scene. She was amazed at how stealthy these women were, especially given the size of some of them. Natalya was your standard plump Ukrainian woman from Simferopol. She stood only 5'5, but her presence was domineering. She had caused the four women to stick together, especially after finding Lars, and as she insisted on them remaining behind on Ile Verte until Lars was well enough to be transported back to the mainland, she had found some rooms above the restaurant in which they had spent the last night. Since her first interaction with Lars, Natalya had been wary of him. Now, her wariness was evident when she addressed them. "How is he?" She demanded of Siri.

"Well enough to talk and move slowly." Siri replied. She wasn't sure yet if she wanted to move Lars back to the mainland, or if she wanted to go to the mainland herself. Chances were that by now Gerard and his friends would have flown to France and made great efforts to find her. She wanted to stay here where she couldn't be traced. "But I don't think he should be going anywhere anytime soon." She looked over at Lars, hoping he would confirm this suggestion, but instead she saw him scowling at Natalya. Perhaps, if they decided to get into a fight – which Siri really hoped wouldn't happen, but since her brain was in survival mode now, she thought whacky thoughts – Natalya could kick Lars into such a state that he wouldn't be allowed to leave the island.

"I think he should be moved as soon as possible." Helene was close in age to Siri, but she was already married and had only come on this excursion because she needed to pass time before her newlywed husband arrived in Marseilles for their honeymoon. She constantly checked her watch and fussed over little things when she was nervous – which was often, Siri had noticed. She was a pretty woman, in truth, but Siri had thought (and Natalya had agreed) she was too young for being married; if they were the same age or even close to the same age, Helene couldn't be more than 21 years old. Siri, herself, wasn't yet 21. The advantage with Helene was that she struggled in making forthright decisions and sticking to them. If she had been able to do this well (or at all) she would have been in Marseilles now without the rest of them. Clearly, she was here instead. "Or what do you think Sigrid? You've spent the most time with him." Siri smiled inwardly: this was a typical Helene response, she had learned despite only knowing the woman for 36 hours.

[Rickard Reynolds]

"We're all strong lassies," Graidhne declared. She seemed to do everything in a bold way, and Siri was convinced her strong Scottish roots and shocking red frizzy hair paved roads for her among strangers. It had so far with this group; Natalya was the only other strong personality among them, and on several occasions, even the Ukrainian woman had conceded to the Pict. Siri had been keeping count of decisions made/won between the two women, and it stood at an even 4-4. Natalya squared up and face Graidhne.

"No one said we're not. What are you suggesting Grawnyee?"

"Let's pick him up and carry him until we get to the mainland." Graidhne pronounced, her suggesting sounding like a sentencing to Siri. If Graidhne and Natalya were both in favor of leaving with Lars, Helene would side with them as well: Siri needed either the Ukrainian woman or the Scottish woman on her side (staying) in order to have a democratic chance. It looked like she was about to be outnumbered 3-1 though in favor of leaving. Sure enough, Helene nodded in agreement. She was the smallest of the women in terms of strength, so it seemed ludicrous for her to agree to this suggestion, and Siri jumped on that.

"Helene, really? How are you going to be able to help carry Lars?" She watched the three women size up Helene and then Lars. Lars was still scowling at Natalya.

"I...could manage," Helene stuttered. "With help, it could be an easy task." Graidhne crossed her arms and frowned.

"Helene wouldn't need to do anything, actually. This Lars bloke looks easy to carry, other than his being so lanky."

"Suppose that I wanted to stay and wait until he got better for sure?" Siri challenged Graidhne.

"Don't be a dolt," the Pict replied. "He can't get any better by being hidden out here where there's no medical buildings or health professionals. You know he's got to go with us, Sigy." Graidhne softened. "Even if you don't like it. You can't keep running away forever." And just like that, all the fight in Siri was taken out. Graidhne struck at the heart of the matter, and when she put it so plainly, Siri knew she couldn't escape it.

"Fine," she conceded at last. "Let's get him up then.

Lars protested as Natalya picked him up and slung him over her shoulders. She could have carried him all the way down to the slipway herself, Siri imagined, if the path hadn't been so rough. Despite her strength, Natalya needed Graidhne to help distribute Lars' weight. Both women seemed surprised at how heavy he was in reality. The loose dirt and unpredictable location of the island's sharper rocks didn't help the two navigate their way down to the slipway any more. Meanwhile, Helene kept looking out toward the water, scanning for the incoming ferry, and every fifteen seconds, Siri noticed she would check her watch. Finally, Siri chose to give her something else to think about – or at least to coax out of her the reason she was so anxious to get back to Marseilles. "It's because Marcus is supposed to be there at a precise time," she said with a relieved sigh. "I'm sorry. I know it must be annoying."

Siri agreed, it had been a distraction. "Where will you two go from here?"

"We have a first night stay booked near the French Alps, and we plan to cross into Switzerland the next day. He's never really experienced snow being from Lafayette, Louisiana." She blushed.

"It sounds like a great trip," Siri encouraged her. But Helene's mention of snow brought Siri back to Lars' guess.

Norway was beautiful at most times of the year. Oslo was a great city to visit – and if one was lucky enough, to live in too – and the fjords and mountains up in the north, near the Arctic Circle, were a sight worth seeing before departing this life. Siri could smile at the adventures she'd had with her cousins on the northern slopes of that beloved Scandinavian country; but, she smiled inwardly, it was not her country of origin. It might have been, eight decades ago, if her great-grandfather had not chosen to take a daring ski trek over those same beloved slopes with Norwegian Nazi scouts keeping a close watch on him. Great Gran-papa had escaped into Sweden on an eventful night in the late winter of 1940, narrowly slipping past a rampant patrol force of Nazi supporters from his own country. Following in the footsteps of his Viking relatives – and of his newlywed wife and member of the Norwegian Resistance, the lovely Marie-Louisa Erikssen (aka Great Gran-mama) - he'd journeyed down through the spine of Sweden, crossed into Nazi-occupied Denmark and slipped through the fingers of the Nazis first in Copenhagen and, again, in Nazi Germany. The story went that he and Marie-Louisa were reunited in Nazi-occupied Holland from whence they escaped together into Vichy France – then a safe zone for Allies. The trail went dark there, however, as both Sven and Marie-Louisa were lost to the records. In October 1942, Sven made a shocking reemergence in the record book as he was aboard the ill-fated SS Caribou that was torpedoed by German submarine U-69. Miraculously, Sven was one among the 24 civilians to survive the sinking that claimed 137 (of 191) lives. He settled in Sydney, Nova Scotia but was never rejoined by Marie-Louisa Erikssen (rumor had it that she either died on the SS Caribou or she did not make it out of Europe).

In the end, Siri admitted with pride, she was Canadian through and through. Her grandparents had moved out of Nova Scotia to New Brunswick, for the sake of employment opportunities, and later when her parents went to university in Montreal, they dreamed of returning to Nova Scotia, and when they settled down at last, it was in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. So, there it was: Atlantic Canada was her place of origin. With the way Lars had deduced her present place of origin, Siri had known he wouldn't be accurate when she challenged him.

[Rickard Reynolds]

"I just hope that we catch this ferry back to France," Helene said, bringing Siri back to the present day.

"I'm sure he's on his way, and I want to be there when he arrives." Siri agreed that it would be very romantic for her to welcome him to France when he got off the plane. She regretted that a triumph for love for Helene and Marcus would mean a personal defeat for her. Helene neither volunteered anymore thoughts nor did Siri pry after any; both women fell into their own thoughts for a little while as Graidhne and Natalya struggled to get Lars down the slope. Siri considered what might happen in the future when they brought Lars to Marseille. Would he need to go to the hospital? Who would go with him? Did he had any money to afford a visit? She hadn't found anything on him except for his clothing. She wondered if the dog that had done all the work of rescuing him had taken anything off him in the effort. Glancing back, she could see that the dog was continuing to follow them at a safe distance. At least something was trying to attend to the man; there was hope in that. And what would happen to her when Gerard found her in France? Probably more verbal abuse, which she was beginning to get accustomed to; he'd probably try to strike her on a personal level. The only trouble with verbal abusers was that after a while, they couldn't hurt you anymore because they'd run out of things to hit you with; of course, it had crossed Siri's mind that he might then turn to physical abuse, but that was harder to hide, and Gerard was all about appearances.

Suddenly, Natalya slipped and threw her arms out to stop herself from falling. Lars tumbled forward, accidentally (perhaps) clobbered the Ukrainian woman with his feet as he fell, head-first, to the ground and rolled the rest of the way down the hill. The dog darted forward and nipped at his ankles, snagging a trouser leg in her teeth and hanging on. Siri saw, with amazement, that the dog managed to keep Lars from colliding with a tree. She rushed after them while Graidhne and Helene helped Natalya to her feet, brushing her off. The dog snarled at Siri, but when they met eyes, the dog backed off a little, watching Siri, ready to pounce if she did anything to hurt Lars more. "Are you okay?" Siri asked the man. He groaned.

"Define 'okay' for me, please," he said back. "I'm alive, but that's about all I've got going for me right now." He tried to roll over and yelped, causing the dog to rush back to his side and begin licking his lacerated face. Siri attempted to help him up, but the dog had had enough with her and would not let her get close enough. Natalya and the other women joined Lars and Siri soon after, and once Siri was sure that Natalya was okay, they all turned their attention back to Lars and the dog.

In the end, Graidhne helped by setting him upright and supporting his weight by slinging his arm over her shoulder and clamping her arm around his waist. Natalya did the same on his other side, and Siri observed him attempting to kick or trip the Ukrainian woman all the way to the docking area. Before they came into plain view, Helene ran ahead to a little pool of water near the shoreline and dipped several cloths into it. She returned and wiped Lars' face clean of dirt and blood. "There will be less questioning if he looks presentable," she said in uncharacteristic determination. All in all, when they arrived, the queue for the ferry was already forming. Natalya nudged Lars sharply and commanded him to try to walk on his own. To Siri's amusement, the rescue dog refused to make the rest of the trip easy, constantly attempting to shove Natalya and Graidhne out of the way so she could walk alongside Lars. Siri guessed, based on his body language, that Lars would have preferred the dog over Natalya any day, but as the advantage rested with the human among them, the seeming psychological battle between Lars and Natalya was gratifyingly played out between the Ukrainian woman and the rescue dog, Siri wondering how to keep them both in her immediate future.

[Entry end]