Eviskar Island (8 page)

              “We’ve got a long ride ahead,” Jack offered as the bus picked up speed, “what do you want to talk about?”

              “Heck, I don’t know, whatever you want, I suppose.”

              He looked at her, and his blue eyes fixed upon hers.  “I just realized, Marcie, we’ve hardly spoken with one another on this trip.  If we’re going to spend the next three months working side by side, we ought to get to know one another better.”

             
That’s the plan
, she thought, her heart racing.  All of the effort she’d put into preparing for this trip: the yard work, the babysitting, countless trips to the store, it was all starting to pay off.  She was sitting next to a gorgeous hunk, at the start of what was shaping up to be a long romantic adventure.  Life couldn’t get much better.  “You first,” she said.  “Tell me all about Jacek Malinowski.”

*  *  *

              “Where the heck are Marcie and Jack?”

              Morgan Holloway was holding court in the hotel lobby.  Somehow, even with his unlit pipe clenched firmly in his teeth, his speech was remarkably clear and understandable.

              “I saw ‘em get on the otha bus,” said Spencer.

              “Oh, okay; as long as they’re not still at the airport they should be here soon.”  Morgan turned his attention to the extra baggage he’d brought with him—supplies other than personal effects they’d need in camp.  The heaviest was a large duffel that contained a sophisticated total station and collapsible tripod, the kind used by land surveyors.  The instrument would be used to establish a precise coordinate system at the site so that the exact location at which each artifact was unearthed could be recorded.  Another padded suitcase held two satellite communicators and a sat phone.  Debbie had insisted they use some of the precious grant money to enhance their ability to communicate with the outside world, especially since they would be responsible for four young students.

              “Hey, doc, sorry we’re late.”  Jack and a flushed, beaming Marcie arrived and tossed their rucksacks beside the others.  “Want some help carrying that stuff to your room?”

              “Why, yes, thank you, Jack.”  Morgan then addressed the group as a whole, “You should find your room assignments and dinner vouchers at the front desk.  I’m afraid Debbie and I will be too busy this evening to provide much in the way of entertainment, so you folks are on your own.  Bear in mind we have to get up early tomorrow to catch the 6:00 bus to Olafsvik, so I strongly suggest you take a moment to freshen up before dinner and then think about getting some sleep.  It’s already…” he glanced at his watch, “…almost 9:30 PM local time, which means we’ll be meeting back here in the lobby for breakfast in only eight hours.”

              Led by Jocelyn, the students made their way across the small lobby to the hotel desk.  “I wondah where the phrase ‘freshen up’ comes from,” Spencer speculated.  “It’s just a euphemism for ‘go to the bathroom.’  Why don’t people just say what they mean?”

              “It’s all about manners and class,” said Jocelyn.  “If you’d like I can give you lessons.”

              “Yo, bite me.”

              “Lesson number one,” she said sweetly, “is that ‘bite me’ is an unacceptable and derogatory response in civilized parts of the world.  You’re obviously from a more ‘backward’ region.”

              “It’s only 16:30 our time,” Jack said as he accepted his room key from the concierge.  “I think I’ll grab a bite after I ‘freshen up,’” he winked at Spencer, “then I’m going for a walk.  This may be my only chance to see Reykjavik.”

              “Me too,” Marcie said, her tone brimming with enthusiasm.  Her sense of adventure was readily apparent.  “After sitting on a plane for five hours, I could use some exercise.”

              Jocelyn rolled her eyes.  “So, I take it the plan is to meet for dinner and then do some sightseeing.  Fine.  But doc Holloway did have a point; we all have to get up early tomorrow.”  She looked at Marcie, “The younger ones among us, in particular, need their rest.”  To Jack, she continued, “see you in fifteen?”

*  *  *

              Even in the middle of June there was a nip in the air which infused briskness to Jack’s pace as he led the way down Laugavegur, the street in front of the hotel.  Armed with a map of downtown and his cell phone with its three megapixel camera, he was in full tourist mode.  The party turned north onto Frakkastigur and within a few blocks hit the Saebraut, the main street and walkway that wound along the Atlantic shoreline.  The others followed dutifully because it was obvious Jack knew where he was going.  He had a destination in mind.

              “There it is,” he said to no one in particular. 

Glare from the setting Sun bounced off the strange-looking structure located between them and the sea.  Constructed of stainless steel to protect it from the corrosive salt air, the impressive sculpture stood resplendent against the backdrop of the western horizon.  They crossed the street to get a closer look.  Marcie, Jack and Spencer maneuvered around to the other side to take photos with the Sun at their backs.

“What is it?” Marcie asked.

“Looks like a Viking ship, sort of,” Spencer replied.

Jack explained, paraphrasing from his Reykjavik guidebook, “It’s called the ‘Solfario’ which means ‘Sun Voyager.’  Says here it’s supposed to be a dream boat, an ode to both the Sun and to the explorers who left these shores heading west into the unknown.”

“Cool,” Marcie remarked.  She took several pictures, all of which included Jack well-positioned in the foreground.

“Make sure you get both dreamboats in those photos,” Jocelyn offered.  She was standing right behind the younger girl.  There was a bored, sarcastic hint to what she said.

“Hey, it’s none of your concern what I photograph.  Give it a rest, Jocelyn, Geez.”

“Sounds like I struck a nerve.  And don’t get all huffy; I’m just trying to help.  He’s a bit old for you, don’t you think?  I mean, if we’re going to be roommates on this trip, the last thing I want to put up with is you moping around hoping Jack will show some interest.  Take my word for it; it’s not going to happen.”

Marcie gave her a look of disgust and walked away.  Jocelyn knew she’d hurt the other girl’s feelings, but felt entirely justified in her statement.  Marcie’s interest was understandable; Jack certainly was cute and they were going to be spending a lot of time together this summer—all of them.  The social dynamic among them would be complicated and difficult if romance were to enter into the equation.

The sodium-vapor lights along the Saebraut had begun to glow, their yellow light heralding the arrival of ‘evening’ in this most northerly capital of Europe.  Lights were turning on all over town, transforming the cityscape from that of a quaint coastal community into that of a cosmopolitan metropolis.  Jack stood transfixed at the vista of the foreign city he’d been in for less than two hours now, watching lights wink on as though it were a sprawling giant beast awakening from its diurnal slumber.  Although it was a rather small city in terms of population, Reykjavik had played an important role in late 20
th
century world history.  In particular, it had served as a gateway to the thawing of tensions between the democracies of the west and the Soviet communist block to the east.  In October of 1986, Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev held historic meetings there to set treaty limits on nuclear warheads, an event which significantly lowered the levels of animosity and paranoia between the super powers and led to the fall of the Berlin wall and the Iron Curtain less than a decade later.

“We should probably think about heading back soon—gotta get up in about six hours.”  Marcie was standing beside him.  “What are you looking at?”

Jack smiled sheepishly when he realized he’d been daydreaming.  “I was just thinking about what’s happened here.  When my dad found out we’d be passing through Reykjavik, Iceland on our way to Eviskar, he got really excited and started telling me all about the famous chess match that was played here.”

Spencer, a chess aficionado, overheard their conversation and wandered over.  “I think I heard ’a that.  It was between some Russian guy and a crazy American.”

“That’s right.  It all happened back in the 70s, before any of us were born.  At the time my dad was about my age, maybe a bit younger; he was a member of a chess club in Krakow during the communist years.  According to him, it was a huge deal in his neighborhood, almost like a heavyweight fight—no, more than that; it was like the Olympics, the Superbowl and the World Cup all rolled into one—the chess match of the century.  Every newspaper around the world carried a list of the moves made in each game.

“The reason for all the interest went beyond the fact that it pitted two of the greatest players in history against one another.  It had a lot to do with where they were from.  Boris Spassky, the champion, was from Russia.  His opponent, the challenger, was a brilliant young upstart from the US named Bobby Fischer.  Reykjavik was chosen for the showdown I suppose because it’s remote and lies sort of mid-way between the capitals of Moscow and Washington.

“During the match, my father and his friends would wait impatiently for the daily paper.  As soon as it arrived they would set up their boards and replay each game, talking excitedly about the strategies of the opponents.  According to experts, who wrote volumes about the match as it progressed, both participants played brilliantly.  It truly was an epic struggle between giants of the sport.  The tension throughout the match was incredible.  Spassky was the more conventional and methodical of the two.  Once he’d taken the lead, he worked hard to wear Fischer down, playing superb defense, knowing that if enough of their remaining games ended in draws he would win the match.

“Fischer, on the other hand, was a risk taker.  He made moves that astonished the experts.  Some were blunders that got him into serious trouble, but he made others that, well, my dad said they were some of the most clever feints, finesses and gambits anyone had ever seen.”

“So, who won?” Marcie asked.

“Many experts considered Spassky to be at the top of his game, nearly unbeatable.  His technique was too good; he had no discernable weaknesses.”

“Okay, okay, but who WON?”

“Fischer.  When it was over, my dad and his chess buddies celebrated.  Anti-Russian sentiment had reached a seriously high level by then.  A decade later the Solidarity movement began and Poland began its break from the Soviet sphere of influence.  In the eyes of many Poles, Bobby Fischer had brought down the Russian bear.  Single-handedly he had dealt a devastating blow to Russian prestige in a sport they’d dominated for decades.”

Jack paused to reflect on the major world event that had taken place in this small city.  “When you think about it, the match really had nothing to do with the native lands of the participants.  It was just great competition between two great minds, men who could have come from anywhere.  My dad believes it was actually Spassky rather than Fischer who did more to thaw east-west relations.  Fischer was as moody and eccentric as he was brilliant.  Spassky could have won the match by default when Fischer suddenly insisted they move the match to a private room attended only by chess officials—no spectators.  In a gesture of good sportsmanship, Spassky agreed to Fischer’s demand and even applauded his opponent after a particularly well-played game.  He was very gracious in defeat, and the respect Spassky showed for Fischer’s skill as a fellow chess player transcended the petty political differences between the countries from which they came.”  Jack paused before concluding, “Maybe the world should re-examine what took place here from that standpoint.”

It was getting late.  Not much was spoken as the four nascent archeologists wound their way back to the hotel.  Everyone, even Jocelyn, who’d been standing in the background listening quietly to Jack’s story, was now contemplating the famous chess match in Reykjavik that had galvanized the world forty years earlier.

*   *   *

The bus left the hotel at precisely 6:30 AM local time, 1:30 AM eastern daylight time.  All of the students were jet-lagged, and none had slept more than a few hours, but the resilience of youth coupled with the extra-large coffees provided through the hotel’s free continental breakfast, kept them awake and lucid.  The Sun had been up for hours, a factor that had contributed to their inability to sleep.

Marcie sipped her coffee and wrinkled her nose.  She didn’t normally drink the stuff, but she’d accepted the assertion made by Debbie that it would help to reset her biological clock, help her adapt to the time difference. 
Yuk
, even with about ten packs of added sugar she could barely tolerate it.  How could her dad consume gallons of this junk?  And he liked it black, unsweetened.  Go figure.

Between bites of a breakfast pastry, Jocelyn giggled at something Jack said.  The two were seated in the row in front of Marcie.  Marcie was pissed.  Jocelyn’s reproving words from the previous evening, insinuating that she was too young to become romantically involved with Jack, had embarrassed and angered her.  Now, Jocelyn had the choice seat next to Jack and was chatting him up.  Granted, Jocelyn was already seated when Jack boarded the bus, and he had
chosen
to sit beside her, but Marcie still felt as though she’d been manipulated.