The Fishing Hut – Part 2: Ice Song

"Yes," said Elias. "Please. I'd like that."

The kiss was warm and tasted of smoke and blackcurrant. Hamid's gloved hand rose to Elias's cheek, and then, laughing, he pulled the glove off with his teeth. His bare palm was warm and rough. Elias smiled into the kiss and held on.

"You are shaking," said Hamid.

"It's twenty below."

"It is not only the cold."

"No." Elias grinned. "It's not."

They ate, they talked, they fed the stove. The night deepened. A little after midnight a long low groan rolled beneath them, a deep sound like an enormous cello, echoing across the lake. Elias grabbed Hamid's arm.

"The ice song," whispered Hamid. "It is the lake settling. Listen."

The sound rose and fell in long haunting notes, from one shore to the other. Then, through the window, Elias saw the sky begin to glow. A thin green ribbon curled over the pines, then widened, rippling, until the whole sky blazed.

"Come outside?" asked Hamid.

"Come inside," said Elias. "It's better in here. With the window."

They pulled the blankets from the bench and made a nest on the bunk in front of the little window. The stove glowed deep red. The aurora poured silently across the glass. Slowly, tenderly, they undressed each other in the warmth, laughing at the layers, until there was only skin and quiet and wool blankets. His hands were careful, his mouth was patient, and the ice sang low beneath them like a lullaby.

At dawn the lake shone pink and silver. Elias woke tucked against Hamid's chest, warm to the bone, with the stove ticking and the smell of coffee in the air.

"Your assignment ends tomorrow," said Hamid.

"It does."

"The spring ice is best. Very clear. You can see all the way to the bottom."

Elias smiled sleepily. "I'll need to write about that."

"I will carry your notebook," said Hamid. "And your fish."

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