The Ice Fishing Hut – Part 2: Northern Lights

By January, Caleb had moved his rod to Dmitri's hut.

It was larger, with a bunk, a wood stove, a card table and a little window onto the ice. Dmitri cooked borscht on the stove. Caleb made terrible coffee. In the long dark evenings they played cards and talked about everything: their families, their failures, the way a cold clear night felt like starting over.

On the last night of the month, the sky lit up.

Dmitri noticed first. He stood suddenly, hand on the window frame. "Come."

They stumbled outside in their parkas. The lake lay vast and silent under a bowl of stars. And above the northern horizon, a pale green curtain rippled, rose, unfolded, rolled slowly across the sky. Pink fringes flickered on its edge. The frozen lake mirrored it, so the lights seemed to dance above and below them at once.

"Oh," breathed Caleb.

"Yes."

"I've never seen it."

"It doesn't come often." Dmitri's voice was low. "I wanted you to."

They stood side by side on the ice, steam rising from their scarves. The cold stung their cheeks. The stars crackled. Far away, the ice sang a long, low song.

"Can I ask you something?" said Caleb.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you, Dmitri? Under that?"

Dmitri turned. His face was lit green, his eyes bright. "Yes," he said. "And if you say stop, you must stay for the whole winter."

"That isn't a punishment."

"I know. I'm hopeless at them."

Caleb kissed him, cold-nosed and warm-mouthed, a mittened hand rising to his bearded cheek. Dmitri kissed him back, slow and tender, tasting of coffee and beetroot soup. The aurora rippled overhead. The ice sang beneath their boots.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Dmitri.

"Green," said Caleb. "Very green."

Caleb stayed the whole winter. In March, the ice went out, and he stayed through that too.

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