Freedom

Exhilaration. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so good. Morning runs did the trick to burn my excess energy but the physical exertion wasn’t enough to make me feel… this. Whatever it was. Be it the present company, or the fantastic weather over great landscape, the warmth expanding in my chest echoed to the giddiness of my spirit. I felt like spreading my wings and jumping over the cliff to take flight. I felt… free.

By my side, Frances led me uphill at a fast pace while she talked about the script. Comments, questions or suggestions, she had analysed the dialogues and situations in depth. And damn, she was in good shape ! But even then, she was panting now. I paused to take in the view, and stole a glance at my companion for the day. I was warm enough now and unzipped my jacket. By my side, Frances was opening her heavy mantle, button by button, her cheeks heavily flushed.

— “Do you often walk to the top ?”, I asked, marveling at the scintillating fjords below.

— “I use to live at the foot of Ulriken, on the other side.”

She pointed to the higher mountain on our left.

— “I sometimes walked the ridge to get down to the city center rather than take the road.”

I chuckled.

— “Quite the detour”

— “Yes. But I have time, and I love walking”

— “I’m more of a runner myself”

She made a face.

— “I’m so slow when I run, honestly. Mountain skiing would be more like it.”

Skiing. Given I had met the lady close to Lyon, I wondered if she enjoyed the slopes.

— “How about alpine ?”

A fond smile brightened her features, her lips quirking up in a knowing smile. Yeah, there was a story there.

— “I hold my own”

Just as I had guessed; I would have to ask what made her eyes twinkle at the thought.

— “Mmm”

Truthfully, I knew next to nothing about her, and was looking forward to learning a little more before I had to take my evening flight. Her views on the script were already running in my mind, and I had no doubt that by the top, I would have a dozen suggestions to submit to the director. Some of her comments made sense, some other I had discarded because they didn’t fit. My explanations were well received; Frances had confessed not knowing much about this period.

I wondered where her boyfriend was, and by the time we made it into the Troll forest at the feet of Fløyen, I had to admit that I felt rather spooked by her explanations about Stéphane’s asbence. The man seemed deeply entangled in the family company, and rather unwilling to let it go. In the meantime, Frances lived a celibate life in Norway in all but freedom. Waiting for him…

Well. She was young. With so much time ahead, she could still decide whatever was best for her. I could still feel the pang of sadness in her voice whenever she talked about it. It echoed with mine in a way I couldn’t understand. I knew my marriage to be a failure, was Frances’ relationship just as doomed ? Or was I projecting my own feelings, trying to find someone to relate to ? This unsettling though occupied me for a while, and I retreated into myself until we reached the Floien Folkerestaurant.

By then, the trees cleared and the panorama spread before us. A vague childhood memory tickled the back of my mind at the view; I remembered standing by the glass guardrail with my parents and my older brother, a lifetime ago after a short tramway ride. Frances let me lead the way this time, trailing discreetly by my side as she buttoned her mantle again. The breeze was stronger up there, and I fished the beanie out of my pocket to cover my head. The instant warmth contrasted with my frozen ears, and I turned to my companion to check on her.

The sight that greeted me called a smile to my lips. Frances had drawn her heavy scarf around her head to block the wind. With the long medieval cloak, she looked like a lady of old. This woman wasn’t playing ancient, she WAS an old soul. I understood then why I had chosen her to be… well, my wife. Not literally, of course. But she had the poise and style of her character. There wouldn’t be any nagging about feminism, nor arguments about ‘how come the woman doesn’t get a say in this ?” I could picture her so easily with a reformist husband, tending to his needs without ever saying a word. Not because she didn’t understand the world, no. But because she knew her place, and dedicated herself to him, and his family. Yes. Frances was an excellent choice for this movie. Her inner strength showed, right now, while her eyes contemplated the stunning landscape.

Sensing my gaze, she turned to me. When our eyes met, her expression brightened and I suddenly felt guilty for mulling over my earlier dark thoughts. Today was a moment to connect with her and create a bond we would use in that movie.

— “Come”, I said. “I’m in need of sustenance”

Frances took a quick look at her watch.

— “Half past eleven. Restaurants should be serving right now. You must have awoken at an insane hour”

— “Mmm. The flight was at 8, I have to admit that I had to drink coffee, it was allright”

The young woman’s lips quirked slightly, conveying much fondness.

— “Do you make a habit to wake up at dawn ?”

— “No, but it was well worth it”

Her smiled widened.

— “Come, we’ll grab a bite at the kafé.”

I nodded, grateful that she didn’t assume that I wanted to go into the great restaurant nearby. Most people I met thought that a furnished bank account equalled being posh and frequent only five stars establishments. But Frances knew better; she had brought me home for a delicious, yet simple meal. The cafeteria nearby would do nicely.

Bread rolls and Scandinavian waffles landed upon a tray and we settled by the window in the large dining area. Frances fished out the script where words were neatly scribbled. Apparently, she had missed some of her initial statements and off we were again in the Cévennes. It was nice to have someone so dedicated, especially when she would only be playing a few scenes. I could feel the engineer in her, the woman who wanted to study the specifics in depth before agreeing to something. Not because she feared it, but rather to be able to do the best job possible.

I would have to pry out the artist in her, the emotion rather than the brainy side. Someone approaching our table called my attention. There came a young man, probably thirty years old, a look of awe on his face. Probably a fan. A minute later, we started conversing in Swedish and Norwegian, which was thankfully possible thanks to the closeness between our respective languages. He, of course, wanted a picture. I could see that Frances didn’t understand much of what was said, but she took the camera proffered with a smile. One quick snap later, my awed fan eventually realised the beauty of the young woman that accompanied me today. I nearly laughed when he left us, his eyes darting between me – his idol – and Frances.

Would he speculate over this meeting ? I wasn’t worried about the press; Europeans were much more respectful of private life than in the States. Aside from my love for my country, this was the reason I hadn’t moved overseas. Even if I was recognised more easily in Sweden than in any part of the world, people didn’t bother me. Of course, they approached me, we exchanged a few words or took a picture, but I didn’t have to worry about paparazzi when I shopped for beer. Overseas… things were different.

Sharing Scandinavian waffles with a French lady was quite another experience where childhood met another culture full force… and the truth was that those memories remained unscathed, for Frances appreciated just as much as I did the fluffy heart-shaped treats. Funny how she blended in. It was a quiet lunch, with lots of stories shared. Opinions were exchanged, questions asked and I spoke just as much as she did. But overall, it felt peaceful. Whatever I expressed was accepted with curiosity, and she viewed the world with cynism. She painted the cultural shock with such wit that I found myself laughing more often than not. It felt good, to laugh like this.

— “Imagine my brother’s face when he realised that Saturday 4pm was too late to buy any wine for dinner”, she giggled.

I remembered her little brother, and the thought made me smile. Poor teenager… stranded in the Viking’s country at the mercy of a teasing sister. Still, it was better than discovering that you had ordered Lutefisk in the restaurant.

We went down the path that led to her former flat, talking about horses, and trailers, and logistics for the next movie. I felt confident, by now, that she would take this role and thrive. Perhaps it would open some doors for her, perhaps not. Our breaths created volutes as she led me back to the city centre. The wind was harsher now, needles prickling at our skin as the sun lowered its course. At 3.45 pm; the fishmarket was gone and we completed the full circle from the Hanseatic museum. Standing under the corbel of the old wooden house, I didn’t want to let her go. Not yet. Despite the cold that seeped through my bones – the sun was setting - I felt so elated that I didn’t want to get back to my temporary flat in Malmö. That little woman made me feel alive.