Fish Market Morning – Part 1: Salt and Ice

The harbour market in Bergen woke at four in the morning, when the first trawlers unloaded their catch and the sky over the mountains was still the colour of wet slate. Sander stood behind his stall in an oilskin apron, sorting cod on a bed of crushed ice, his breath clouding in the cold.

The new chef came every day at five.

He was tall and fair, with a neat beard and a very serious expression, and he wore a wool coat far too good for a fish market. He walked the aisles slowly, inspecting every stall with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb, and he always ended up at Sander's.

"One cod," said Erlend, this morning, in careful Norwegian.

"Which one?"

"The one that looks the most honest."

Sander laughed. "They are all honest. They are dead."

"Then the least regretful," said Erlend, and the corners of his mouth lifted.

Sander picked a fish and wrapped it in paper. Erlend paid in exact change and did not leave.

"You come every day," said Sander. "And you buy one fish. It is not enough for a restaurant."

"It is enough for me." Erlend hesitated. "I am testing."

"Testing what?"

"Whether I want to stay in Bergen." He looked at the harbour, grey and glittering. "I came from Oslo three weeks ago. The restaurant is good. The city is cold. I am not sure."

Sander wiped his hands on his apron. "Come back at eight," he said. "I will show you the best fish soup in the city."

Erlend's eyes widened. "I make fish soup."

"You make restaurant soup. I will show you real soup."

At eight, the market had filled with tourists and the stall next door was selling waffles. Sander led him to a small blue door behind the fishmonger's, up a narrow staircase to a kitchen with a stove, a table and a window full of seagulls.

"My grandmother's," said Sander. He ladled soup from a pot into two chipped bowls. It was thick and white, with potato and leek and flakes of cod, and a whisper of dill.

Erlend tasted it. He put the spoon down. He closed his eyes.

"Oh," he said, very quietly.

"It is not complicated."

"It is perfect." He opened his eyes. They were bright. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Why do you work at the market and not in a kitchen? You could be a chef."

Sander shrugged. "Because I like to start the day with something honest," he said. "A fish does not lie."

Erlend smiled, slow and warm. "May I come back tomorrow? To eat, and to talk? Only if you want."

Sander's heart gave a quick, unexpected jump. "Yes," he said. "Bring your own spoon."

"Green?" asked Erlend.

"Green," said Sander. "Very green. Eat, Erlend, before the soup gets cold."