Somewhere Over the Sea by Halfdan Freihow Page A

question several times, and I felt a touch of panic as we picked up phrases like “inside the house” and “must get out.” We managed to get her into the living room and down into a chair, and Mom set off running. I was to ring the emergency services and try to calm the woman down, attempt to get a definite answer out of her and find the fire-fighting equipment.
    It’s incredible how quickly it is possible to think. While on the phone and at the same time trying to pacify the woman, I saw Mom through the window, running, and it was as if I were running with her, racing to get there first. Even in the midst of two desperately important conversations I had all the time in the world to think: What does one do with a burned child, a child who has inhaled smoke? Can the doctors do anything at all for her? It looks like a fine day; we should go out in the boat. There’s a bit of a breeze blowing from the southeast, I can see that from the smoke, so the little island isn’t a good idea today. Is it true that our neighbour’s house is a burning house? How shall I tell the mother that she has lost her daughter?
    WE NEARLY LOST YOU ONCE , we thought. You were just six, seven, maybe eight weeks old, I don’t remember. It was late in the evening and time for your feeding. You, who had always been so ravenous, who could never get enough, lay weak and feeble in the bed without even the strength to take the breast into your mouth. You disappeared from us, were on the point of leaving, and your body was burning. We shook you in terror, tried to call you back, turned and lifted your head. Mom forced breast and milk in between your lips, and late in the night you finally opened your eyes. You had a frighteningly high fever, but it passed, and you came back to us.
    We almost lost Alexander even before he was born, in a nasty car accident; someone ran into Mom and permanently damaged her knee. Incredibly, the fetus that was due to be born in three weeks time was unhurt. Since then we’ve nearly lost him on several other occasions, to forces and urges that tried to appropriate both his love of life and his life itself. But we got him back too.
    Sometimes we have also lost each other, lost sight of each other in the turmoil, in the fog of everyday life, in the mist of habit, in new and unfamiliar faces. But we found the way back and returned home.
    We can’t afford to lose more than the time that passes by itself, Gabriel. What we have left is too little.
    HOW FIRES WREAK HAVOC with the discretion of closed doors! Like family quarrels, personal tragedies, abuse. When Mom opened the front door and entered the vestibule, all she sensed was the smell and the heat. Then she pushed open the door to the hallway, and I picture the flames hissing to her, telling her that she would lose herself in there.
    She was standing on the stoop, choking as she gasped for breath, as I came running with the fire extinguisher and news that the daughter was probably safe: there was another little dog still in there — I thought. The mother’s speech was still incoherent, so I could not be sure; perhaps a little girl really was dying inside the house. I wrapped my shirt around my nose and mouth and dived into the blackness, but was at once blinded and struggling for breath. A living black wall of sooty smoke engulfed the air around me, sucked it out of my lungs and left something there instead that my body refused to absorb. I did not want to, but I had to get out, and then it was my turn to kneel on the stoop. Afterwards we emptied the extinguisher through a window, to precious little avail. The house was consumed by fire, and our attempts to put it out merely a joke. Besides, we could now hear the sound of sirens from over the hill and it was time to make way for the experts.
    It was only then that I realized you were standing there watching, barefoot and in pajamas, and with