第5章 The Third Night

The third night of the long dark was the sixteenth of November. The sun was under. The strait was black. The station was the night's whole. At three in the morning, the small radio rang. I was in the wire room, because I had not gone back to the dormitory, because the wire room was the entirety of the night, and the night was the sum of what the long dark was, and I could not sleep with the small radio on the shelf, and I was sitting at the log book, and the sound came through the wall, the single note, held for a long time, and then it was gone, and the wire room was the entirety of what the night meant. Halvard was at the short-wave set. He was listening to the mainland, to the station at the mainland, and he was not hearing anything, because the mainland was quiet, and the strait was black, and the long dark was the sum of what the winter was. "It rang again," I said. "I heard it," he said. "I've been listening to it all night. It's not on any frequency I know. It's not the emergency set. It's not the short-wave. It's not the long-wave. It's not anything. It's just the sound. It's the quiet bell. I'm calling it the quiet bell, because it's not a bell. It's quieter than a bell. It's the sound of a bell that's not there." "Is the case open?" "It's closed. I put it back. The inside is still empty. I've checked it four times. There's nothing in it. There's nothing that could make a sound. And yet it makes the sound. Every night at three. The same note. The same length. The same quiet." I looked at the small radio on the shelf. It was grey. It was the size of my hand. It had a dial that did not point to anything, and a speaker that was not a speaker, and the wire room was the sum of what the night was, and the night was the whole of the long dark. "What do you think it is?" I said. "I don't think it is anything," he said. "I think it is the quiet bell. I think the quiet bell is the whole of what the wire room is. I think the wire room is the whole of what the station is. I think the station is the whole of what the long dark is. And the long dark is the whole of what the winter is. And the winter is the whole of what the six are." I did not say anything. I wrote in the log book: 03:00, small radio, third night, Halvard calls it the quiet bell, inside is empty, no mechanism, cause unknown. I closed the log book. The wire room was the whole of the night, and the night was the long dark's whole. Karin came to the wire room at four, because she had heard the sound, because the sound was the whole of what the dormitory was, and the dormitory was the station's whole, and Karin was the meteorologist, and the meteorologist was the whole of what the strait was, and the strait was the entirety of the long dark. "What is it?" she said. "I don't know," I said. "Halvard calls it the quiet bell. It's the small radio on the shelf. It rings every night at three. The inside is empty. There's no mechanism. There's nothing that could make a sound." "Then what is making the sound?" "I don't know. The sound is the whole of what the wire room is. And the wire room is the whole of what the station is. And the station is the whole of what the long dark is. And the long dark is the whole of what the winter is. And the winter is the whole of what the six are." Karin looked at the small radio. She reached out and touched it. She did not say anything. She stood in the wire room, and the small radio was on the shelf, and the wire room was the night's whole, and the night was the entirety of what the long dark meant. "It's cold," she said. "It's not the cold of the metal. It's the cold of the long dark. It's the cold of the strait at three in the morning, when the sun is under and the sky is black and the only light is the station. It's the cold of the long dark being the whole of what the winter is." Karin was the meteorologist, and the meteorologist was the whole of what the barometer was, and the barometer was the whole of what the pressure was, and the pressure was the whole of what the gale was. She had been at the station for three years, and the three years were the whole of what she knew, and the knowing was the sum of what the long dark was. She did not believe in things that did not have a cause. And the not-believing was the whole of what the meteorologist was, and the meteorologist was the entirety of what the strait meant, and the strait was the whole of the long dark. She stood in the wire room, with the small radio on the shelf and the dark in front of her, and the two of them, the radio and the dark, were the whole of what the night was. The third night was the sixteenth of November, and the sixteenth was the whole of what the third night was, and the third night was the long dark's whole. The sun was under, and the under was the whole of what the sky was, and the sky was the sum of what the strait was, and the strait was the entirety of the long dark. The wire room was the entirety of the station, and the station was the entirety of the night, and the night was the entirety of what the long dark meant.