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I woke up in the bed after the afternoon nap. First Sunday of March. I looked at a wall at a blue diploma with a silhouette of the brave King Gustav.
Yes, Vasaloppet is held today.
It reminded me THIS day, 23 years ago...
My host knocked to the door at 3 am. I jumped up, did not sleep anyway. Quickly devoured hot porridge and soon my host drove me to the town limits.
Streets were closed to the traffic. I walked to the town centre on well-frozen, squeaky snow. From many streets dark shadows were coming out and hurried in the same direction. Goretex coats rustled like medieval armours. Sometimes one could hear clicking of skis or stocks. Great army of skiers came to the embarkation point.
In the town square long row of buses waited for us. Organizers gathered us in groups of fifty and packed into buses. And soon the bus started for a 2 hours journey, and the next one, and the next…
I fell asleep. I was awaken by some noises. There were police lights blinking outside, sharp whistles. Get out!
With a black crowd I hurried towards the start area. Looked like a battlefield. Thousands of skis and stocks laid evenly on the snow. At the back, powerful blowers pumped hot air into some shapeless balloon. I found my section and placed skis on the snow.
On a small wooden tower an aerobic instructor led some simple exercises. Loud music of ABBA. Thousands of skiers jumped and waved arms together with the instructor. Suddenly the music changed to Let’s the sun shine from Hair.
- Greet the rising Sun! - shouted the instructor.
I turned my head back and gasped in awe. Behind us towered 20 metres high great Red Horse, a symbol of Dalarna province.
And behind him, there was a pinkish light in the black sky. 10 minutes to start – announced loudspeakers. Quickly I put my outer layer of clothes into a plastic bag marked with my starting number and threw it on the side of the course. Army and volunteers feverishly collected bags and loaded them into tracks. Will I see my clothes again? Around me clicking of ski bindings and shuffling of skis in the tracks.
START!
Loud cry from 15 thousands lungs. I looked back. Great Horse wavered in the wind, leaned forward like it was to go with us, like a great war machine.
Faster! – shouted somebody behind me and stepped on my skis.
Oooops, I was too slow, there was a gap of few meters ahead of me, I pushed strongly with my poles.
Vasaloppet started. Long, easy climb. Bark on the birch trees had a pink hue. After one hour I got to the high plains. The sun was already well above the horizon. Fog in the valleys was still pink but the snow under my feet was getting gold.
What a joyful day! I got a feeling that I waited for this day for a long time. And now it came. I was doing, what I always wanted to do. I felt so happy.
The racecourse was made of 6 parallel pairs of tracks. Unending row of skiers in each track.
When we climbed up I got impression we were in ancient Egypt pulling stone blocks for pyramids. And from the hill the serpent of skiers looked like Chinese Great Wall.
Every dozen kilometres we came to a food station. Few cups of blueberry soup. For next half kilometre the snow was blue. And later again, whiteness, rustle of the snow, clicking of ski poles. How many hours I‘ve been in the race?
Noon passed. Shadows grew longer and deeper. The course narrowed, line of skiers stretched thinner. That’s good. I was already tired with this crowd.
Suddenly I heard a tone of violin. Was I hallucinating? I slowed down, tried to move quieter. No, it was not a hallucination, violin for sure. I passed a turn of the track; there was no skier around me.
At the side of the course stood small, maybe 9 years old girl and played some Swedish folk song on the violin and her even younger brother was sitting on the stool and kept on his knees a towel and some candies on it.
I slowed down and stopped. I wanted to ask who they were, if they will find their way home. Then I met the eyes of the girl. She looked into my eyes intensely, like only children can look.
- Skier from the faraway country. Why did you stop? You came long way for this royal race. And I am playing for you. Because this is your truth. Be faithful to it.
And she brought violin to her chin and ordered:
GO!
Obediently I straightened skis in the tracks, took a deep breath and pushed with ski poles as strong as I could, until I felt pain in my ribs. But I still managed to shout:
- Little girl! And what is your truth?
- To play for you – answered the pure voice - .. to play for you – repeated echo in the woods.
I did not notice when I passed the finish line. Young girl ran next to me pulling my arm to stop me. Another girl embraced me while another one was taking off my skis. I came back to reality, collected a ticket for skis and another one for a hot soup.
- What a great service - I remarked.
- Oh, we have to stop you older guys - answered the girl - otherwise you would ski forever. She waved a hand towards a dark wall of trees.
I found my clothes, ate the soup and asked for a taxi.
- If you haven’t booked earlier you’ll have to wait more than one hour.
There was 6 kilometres to my home. I better go, maybe will catch some lift.
I reached quickly the town limits and stepped on the road. I did not walk too far when I heard something stopping behind me and an order issued in strong female voice:
- Get in!
I turned back. There was a sleigh of a Snow Queen.
I looked into her eyes, were dark blue and deep as an ocean. One short spasm of shivers and suddenly I did not feel any cold nor tiredness. The sleigh moved on and took off in the sky.
- Where are you taking me? - I asked.
- Where would you like to go? - asked the Snow Queen.
- Maybe, to Hokberg, to check if this girl and her brother returned safely home.
The sleigh turned back towards the ski trails. There was night around us and I could see only the racetrack marked with thousands of torches placed in the snow.
We approached settlement of Hokberg. The sleigh lowered and stopped in front of a little house. I got of from the sleigh. I could hear the tone of violin coming from the house. Same violin I heard during the race, this time however it was simple minuet by J.S. Bach. I sat on the snow and listened. The music ended. Out of sudden I felt terribly tired and sleepy.
- Get up, we go home. – I heard the voice of the Snow Queen.
- Home? – I awoke like from the sleep.
- Yes, your home.
- So this is not the end? - I asked feeling somehow helpless and lost.
- You may still come here.
- Here? To listen to the music?
- To listen the music and to ski the race.
- And laughing girls will stop me again at the finish line?
- No, this time nobody will stop you; this race never ends.
I stretched in the bed, turned around and I heard a noise of a book falling on the floor - Julian Barnes - The Lemon Table.
Story of Mats Israelson... about Anders Boden from Hokberg, the man who waited 23 years before he invited Ms Lindvall for a long excursion.
23 years, like today.
I got out from the bed and walked in the street.
After few steps I recognized a familiar melody of J.S. Bach's Menuet.
Of course, it was a daughter of our neighbours at the corner.
I passed the music and walked up the street.
At the corner I noticed a girl waving to.
- Snow Queen? - a thought struck me.
Not this time - it was a girl from a corner house, who usually does some gardening around.
She waved again - come closer, I have something to tell you.
I made a step forward.
- You ate garlic - frowned she. I stepped backwards.
- Come, I have something important to tell you.
- I stepped forward, but not too close, I already knew her story.
- Did you notice, there are many cars driving up and down the street, without any purpose, very strange.
- Very strange, I confirmed.
The girl stopped talking and I moved forward.
Soon a dark wall of trees was ahead of me..
Wall of trees?
Wattle Park, just narrow line of trees and then an oval, playground.
Definitely not a place for the Snow Queen.
Where is she?
Maybe she was in those cars driving up and down the street?
Maybe this girl?
Maybe the garlic repulsed her?
What a joke!
Not fit for a Queen.
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