The Valkyrie Song

5

It wasn’t the ideal day for a walk by the beach.

The water of the Elbe frothed and snapped at the bitter wind that whipped at it and the dull steel-grey fog that smothered it. He had his fists rammed deep into his coat pockets and a woollen hat pulled tight over his ears, but he walked unbowed, his wet and chilled face full into the wind. He had walked here two summers ago with his wife. They had talked then about the future. About how maybe the time was right to have kids.

He stopped and watched the fog-fudged outline of a freighter slide by, further out in the Elbe, in the deep channel just beyond Ness-sand, the nature-reserve island. The freighter was dark and massive in the gloom and as it passed it sounded its horn, a low, plaintive dinosaur cry in the fog.

He had just turned back into the wind to continue his walk when he saw a figure ahead of him. Another shadow in the grey gloom. The figure was standing still, staring out at the ship. Or at nothing. He drew close. He saw the profile now and the wisps of blonde hair from under the woollen hat. A woman.

‘Hello.’

The woman gave a start and turned to face him. Her hands snapped out of her pockets and she held them at her side. For a moment he thought she was going to attack him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘Walking,’ she said. ‘I was just walking.’

‘Are you all right?’

She gazed at him blankly and, for a moment, he was struck by how terribly empty her expression was. Then she smiled.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Yes, you did startle me. Not your fault. The fog.’

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ The concern in his voice was genuine.

She shrugged self-deprecatingly. ‘Truth is, I’ve got a bit lost. I parked the car somewhere…’ She waved her gloved hand vaguely along Strandweg in the direction of the ferry pier. ‘I needed some fresh air. A walk. I didn’t account for the fog being so thick.’

‘It’s not a night for walking on the beach,’ he said.

‘Then what are you doing?’ She smiled at him again. He noticed for the first time how pretty she was. Totally different from Silke, his wife, but very pretty.

‘I live near here. I know where I’m walking.’

She looked up to where Blankenese loomed in the fog, a dark mass punctuated by yellow lights. ‘You live here?’

‘Yes… just over there.’ He pointed.

‘Could you walk me back to the path then, please?’ she asked. ‘I’ve actually lost where I came through the wall onto the beach.’

‘Certainly,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘My name’s Svend Langstrup.’

‘I’m Birta. Birta Henningsen.’