My last guide of the day is Bogdan. A Pole.
An immigrant. A wanderer like me but Bogdan’s been here for years.
I do not like him. Stuffed like a sausage. A money changer to the core.
Full of wonder at his own brilliance.
But Bogdan, my friends say, you speak Norwegian;
you speak it better than us, you’re from here now…
Even if it’s true, even if I speak the language better than they do —
I say no! I’m not from here! I’m not like you!
Then where are you from?
And where are you going?
I’m headed for Å.
Good! At least we’ll get there before midnight.
Maybe he’s the grandson of a viking
or the nephew of the king
that the vizier put on the throne in Krakow.
I doubt it — but who knows, with god anything is possible.
Towards Sørvågen, the mountains sharpen to a point.
At the end of the world is Å.
As south as south can be
or west as the locals say.
Laurence O’Dwyer | Contents
Mudlark No. 75 (2023)