Vardøger

In Averøy I like to take a post-dinner  walk and frequent the harbourside. By following the dirt path through the patches of grass and rocky nooks, you arrive at the old wooden docks and can smell the sea spray and feel the tingling wind on your face. Here I sit (or pace) and smoke, lost in various musings and meditations. I remember those docks were once full of big boats -- sign of the booming fishing economy at the time. The wooden shacks were once bright red, like the inviting lips of a lover that drew the hearts of men at sea, after a precarious day of boating the water. But the docks are slanted and only a few wooden hobby boats remain, and the red shacks have long since faded and peeled like the men who worked them.
There was one particular evening when the wind was blowing strong and cold, and as soon as I stepped out the door, I could smell the water slip through my nose and fill the corners of my body. The evening glome had started to descend and the moss and rocks soaked in the sombre ambience as their shadows deepened, and the awakening rock trolls slowly poked their heads over the ragged boulders. It was my favourite time to go out: when the world was recreated with Picasso-blue and sullen, gentle creatures.
On the dirt path that started out behind the garden, I saw a tall man walking towards the water. I was caught off guard by his presence and noticed he wore my jeans and favourite red shirt. I was about to call out when he stopped and looked at me. In sudden horror I realized I was staring into my own face. This Vardøger didn't share my fright, for he regarded me with cool, lifeless eyes before turning and continuing down the path and out of sight. A sudden urge to follow him was swiftly muted by a numbing fear. There in the blue evening, the westward wind blew stronger than ever and my heart contrasted the rest of my body by pulsing in frantic patterns. 


My existence after this experience was one of paranoia. I was always looking for him. On many occasions I thought I saw fleeting glimpses: at the train station in Oslo; on a passing bus in Ålesund; in the dark shadows of some trees. However, looking back I can see these were far from concrete, and more likely the invention of a troubled mind.


Years passed and soon the strange sighting passed more and more from my thoughts, and I was once again able to take my evening walks without fear. On a cool autumn evening, I was returning from the docks with a strong westward wind coming off the water. It blew my hat off and carried it to the edge of the lawn by the house. Bending down to pick it up, I noticed the lights were on and two figures stood on the front porch. In the shadows I could see they were kissing softly. With startling realization, I saw it was my Doppelgänger. And he was kissing her. After thirty years I saw her again, and she was kissing a younger rendering of myself. Her hair was smooth, and her cheeks were plump with youth and beauty. Over the years I had always believed her loveliness was the fairest of all, but seeing her again showed me beauty I had once forgotten and could not carry with me through the recesses of time. I sank to my knees in an overwhelming dizziness.
Suddenly, they turned and looked at me. Their eyes flared, scolding my unwelcome presence amidst their tender lovemaking. For a second I could see into her eyes again. The memories of times past and the intimate knowing that only be experienced by eye contact were mine once more. But her eyes narrowed with his in anger, and sheer terror seized my body as I turned and ran back down the path.
I ran down the rocky hills while the wind picked up and screamed in my ears. Sometimes it was so strong it nearly blew me over. As it started to rain, I tripped over a rock and twisted my knee, but I kept running, even while my leg seemed to be doing nothing at all. I raced past the grass and howling crags right unto the dock. Strangely, it was sturdy and strong in the wind, and the waves reared upon it without mercy. I went straight to my boat and cranked the engine, which started with ease. Where I was going I didn't know, only to flee from the fear and haunted images that seized me. As I puttered away, I sat down with my back against the wall and watched the shore slowly grow distant, as my heart beat sporadically. The rain poured down. Sweat poured down my face as the waves crashed over the sides of the boat and the wind titled us to one side. From amidst the watery-blue chaos, the red shacks stood aglow once again-- bright and mighty beacons from the shore. I watched them until they were little red dots on the horizon, and in the midst of tears and stormy siege, I began to kiss her again. 
The soft touch of her lips never tasted so good.
A wave crashed through the window on my right and knocked me against the wall.
I felt myself with young bones, leaving the porch and turning off the lights inside.
I screamed as the boat was thrust to its side, where it teetered for half a second. In that glimpse of time, I saw through the open door. There, the glorious hull of an ancient fishing boat emerged from the rain and shadows. It crept eerily towards the mainland, undaunted by the storm, sailing several feet in the air above the water. I clenched her soft hand as my boat tipped over and capsized, and we held each other gently in the bed of the house.