The Coastal Express – Part 1: Window Seat

The ship left Bergen at midnight, and Judith went straight to the observation lounge.

She was sixty-four, a widow of one year, travelling alone for the first time since her wedding. She had chosen the voyage from a brochure because it promised fjords and nothing else. In the lounge, the best window seat, with a view of the black water, was already taken by a man with a thermos.

"Oh," said Judith. "I'm so sorry."

"Please." He half rose. He was sixty-seven, tall and slightly stooped, with silver hair and a pair of battered binoculars. "I am only borrowing it. The aurora forecast is good."

"I was going to watch the aurora."

"Then we shall share." He moved his thermos. "Henrik. I am retired. I used to build bridges. Now I look at them."

Judith sat. The window was cold and wide, the sea a vast dark sheet. "Judith. I used to teach French. Now I... I am learning."

"Learning what?"

"How to be on my own."

He nodded, not asking more. "It is a good place to learn. The sea does not mind."

They watched together for two hours. Nothing appeared but stars. At three, Henrik poured her a cup of strong black coffee, and she told him about her husband, quietly, in a way she had not told anyone. He listened. When she finished, he said only, "He sounds like a good man."

"He was."

"And you sound like a good woman, who needs to stop being sad every minute."

She laughed, startled and a little wet. "That's very direct."

"I am Norwegian."

On the second night, the sky turned green.

"Can I ask you something?" said Judith, at the window.

"Yes."

"Was it always this beautiful?"

"Always," said Henrik. "But I think I only notice now."

"Green?" she said, nodding at the sky, laughing.

"Green," said Henrik, smiling. "Very green."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Northern Lights.