2

The ferry pulled up to the wharf, lowering the steel plate at its front to let off a couple of cars and half a dozen people, all looking like locals. The young woman, and the police officer with the Africans exited the shed, heading for the ferry with Bjorn following right behind them.

Bjorn noticed that the woman was dragging a big suitcase on small wheels behind her, while the Africans did not carry anything at all. He himself was carrying a back pack with some personal belongings and a uniform. His requirements for his stay at the border post, in the way of personal possessions, were limited to two uniforms, one of which he was wearing, and some civilian clothes, in addition to his laptop. Not exactly a heavy load, unlike the suitcase that the woman was struggling to keep from falling over as she was dragging it behind her. Knocking into the steel plate joining the ferry to the wharf, her suitcase tipped over, and it took her a bit of effort to get it back on its wheels.

Well on board, everybody hurried inside, and up to the sheltered and heated passenger deck, from which there was a great view in all directions. Bjorn tossed his backpack into the luggage rack at the base of the stairwell together with the woman´s large suitcase, and coming face to face with her as he did so, he took the opportunity to comment on her luggage.

"It is quite a suitcase you are carrying" he said, stating the obvious.
"Yes," she answered, "I´m moving."
"To Lundby?"
"Back to Lundby. Or rather, back to my grandparents´ house."
"Your family is from Lundby?"
"Yep."

She gave Bjorn a cold smile before ascending the stairs to the passenger area, making it clear that she was in no mood for small talk, and Bjorn did not approach her again during the half hour voyage, spending the time quietly watching the view instead.

Patches of snow were everywhere, despite it being April, and the cold weather they were having served to underpin the general feeling of quiet despair resonating from the inhospitable and barren landscape. No plants bigger than a bush could be seen anywhere. Not even Kirkenes, slowly receding as the ferry headed for Lundby, had any vegetation to speak of.

Everything was draped in shades of grey, from the snow covered peeks to the random snow patches along the water, and the steel grey of the water itself. Only manmade structures like houses and cars were reminding the world of the existence of other colour pallets, but all of this was quickly becoming desperately rare as the ferry headed away from the village that some people call a town.