A blood-hot wind, dark.
“Yes.”
Frank was already moving for the room.
“I've got to talk with Adler,” he whispered, sweating.
As he neared the door, Frank recognized the deep, rich fear that liquefied his entire body and he fiercely resisted the overwhelming need to rush, not wanting to spur panic. But as the doorway loomed up, he felt himself rising higher on his feet, moving lighter into it, and as he cleared the frame with the hallway open and white with air before him, he gave in.
Running.
* * *
Thor belched loudly over his empty plate, rubbing the corners of his mouth to smooth out the mustache of his bright red beard. He nodded to Beth, gesturing with his usual theatric flair.
“A finer meal I have never tasted,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair to place both hands on his expanded gut. With an air of supreme contentment he patted his ample waist, gazing at Connor.
“My strength is returning,” he smiled.
“Uh-huh,” Connor replied, leaning his chin on a hand. “You sure you had enough? I mean, I could go kill a steer or something if you need some more. There's some big ol' mountain goats up in the hills that—”
“No, no,” Thor replied, gesturing. He glanced slowly to the window; the long red sunset had faded to black. “Perhaps, yes, on my next trip, we shall hunt one of the longhorns. But for now, I think, we should proceed to coffee.”
Connor blinked, turned to Beth. “Darlin', you better put on the big pot.”
“I've already started it,” Beth smiled, placing dishes in the industrial-sized sink. She turned back as she began washing. “Hey, Thor, I've always wanted to ask you something. How come your parents named you Thor? Isn't that the name of a Viking god or something?”
Thor nodded, working studiously with a toothpick. “Yes, it is the name of the Norse god of thunder,” he commented, clearly eager to speak forth now that dinner was complete.
Connor leaned back, smiling slightly. He knew that Thor, starved as he was for someone to talk with, would dominate the conversation for the better part of the night.
“It has always been a common and popular name in Nor-way,” he continued. “I have two uncles by the same name, Thorson and Thorwulf. And my father's name was also Thor.”
“Is that where you were born? Norway?”
“Yes,” Thor said, picking at a stubborn gap in his teeth. “I was born in the Northland, where there are few people. My family were sheepherders. I was raised in the Lofoten Isles located between the Norwegian Sea and the Vest Fiord.”
Beth looked up. “On the sea? It must have been awfully cold.”
“No.” Thor shook his head. “Not so cold. Here, so close to Iceland, we are in the southbound Arctic current that comes down from the Pole. It is a cold current. An iceberg current. But Norway is far to the east. It is located beside a northbound current coming up from the Atlantic. It is a warm current, so the Norwegian coast is well above freezing. It only becomes cold when you go inland to the fiords, where the sea wind cannot warm the air. Then it is much like this place. Very harsh. Very cold.”
Connor spoke. “Why were there so few people in the... uh, the...”
“Lofoten Islands.”
“Yeah. The Lofoten Islands.”
“It is a brutal land.” Thor frowned. “The closest village is Harstad, over 120 kilometers away.” He gestured with the toothpick. “It was a hard life, I tell you. We were forced to make everything for ourselves. Our houses, clothes, lamps, fuel, saddles and bridles. Whatever we had, we made from the land. Our boots were sealskin stuffed with sedge grass.”
Screaming gleefully, Jordan ran into the room, still wet from a bath. He crashed wildly against Connor, crawling quickly and with fierce determination into his lap. Connor laughed, hugging the small naked body, wiping the wet brown hair from the childish eyes.
“Time for bed, Jordan,” Beth called from the kitchen.
“But I don't want—”
“Jordan,” Connor repeated, attempting to appear stern and unbendable. “You heard what your mother said.”
Jordan stared back at him, seeming to weigh Connor's conviction, deciding he could risk a protest. “But Thor is here and ... and ... and Thor always tells me a stooorrry.”
Thor laughed gustily.
“Thor can tell you a story on his next visit,” Beth said, wiping her hands as she walked forward. “Now give Daddy and Thor a hug. I'm going to read to you and then we'll tickle feet. Thor can visit you again tomorrow, and then he can tell you a big, long story.” She cast a weighty glance at Thor. “A big story. Just like he always does.”