Only the Dead by Vidar Sundstøl

very tip of a headland. A man is sticking out of a hole in the ice. Just his head and arms. In one hand he is holding an ax. The man with the black hat throws something to him. It falls onto the ice, lifeless, and stays there. The man in the hole doesn’t move. He simply hangs there, with his arms on top of the ice. The other man hauls back what he had thrown. He gathers it into his hands. Then he begins making his way out across the ice, hunched over, moving sideways, like a crab. I can hear him talking, but it’s impossible to understand what he’s saying. Nothing but sounds. Snorting. A low-pitched calling. Now he stops, preparing to throw something again. It comes rushing through the air and lands right in front of me. But I can’t move even a finger. I am just hanging here, in the middle of the vaulted sky, together with the other stars, watching what’s going on down below. The crab man shouts loudly several times, but nothing happens. The man sticking out of the hole in the ice doesn’t move at all. And now the shapeless four-legged creature slowly starts moving forward again. This time he doesn’t stop until he reaches the man in the ice. He smells of animals and smoke from a fire.
    Another star grabs me around the waist. I’m being dragged across the sky. A creaking sound all around me. I feel like I’m going to throw up but can’t manage to turn my head. I can’t open my hand that’s holding the ax. I hear someone talking behind me. It sounds like something from a dream. But this is a dream! I’m dreaming that I’m a star being dragged across the sky by another star. But that can’t be right. Because now I do throw up. Vomit and water on my cheek. Am I being dragged across the snow? Across the ice? I can see the stars and the moon high overhead. I guess I’m not a star after all. I can’t breathe. I thrash from side to side and throw up.
    Someone is shouting. I turn my head and see the black crab over there. He’s holding something in his hands. What is it? A long branch. No, a rope. The rope that is dragging me forward. It’s tied under my arms. I must have been dreaming, because I remember falling into the water. There were lots of people on shore throwing stones at me. If even one of them struck me, I would drown. Stones rained down all around me, but none of them hit me. I was able to walk on water. Then I saw a gray body underneath me. It was racing through the water at great speed. I couldn’t see what it was. But now I have awakened from the dream. I am lying here throwing up on myself. It’s not sour, stinking vomit, just water. I am lying on the snow and looking up at the stars overhead. I hear somebody talking. He seems in a frenzy.
    I can’t feel my arms or my legs. Not my face either. Only the ax that has grown onto my hand. I try to say something, but nothing comes out. I don’t recognize myself. Am I a dead man who’s been hauled up out of the water? From the blue ice down below? Is that why I’m so cold? Somebody rescued me. A big black crab wearing a hat. Now I hear his footsteps on the hard-packed snow. He comes close. Says something. Repeats it. I think he’s asking me a question. But it can’t be English. Now I see him. He has on a black hat with a round brim. Under the hat he’s wearing some kind of scarf tied around his head, covering his ears. His face is as dark as an otter’s. He squats down. I close my eyes. Then I feel a hand on my forehead. He is stroking my skin. My mother is the only one who has ever stroked my forehead before. It’s a warm hand. He unbuttons my jacket. I can’t move. He sticks his hand inside my clothes and places it on my chest. And leaves it there. Then he says something again, but I can’t understand him. I’ve heard English spoken every day for weeks. I should be able to recognize that language, even though I can’t speak it myself. No, this isn’t English.
    I open my eyes and look up at the face above me. He isn’t going to hurt