quickly sometimes."
"Gunnar gave me the same advice. He seems quite knowledge- able. Is he a native?"
"Gunnar would like people to think he goes back to Erik the Red," she sniffed. "He's from Copenhagen. Moved into the village a year or two ago."
"Do you know him well?"
"Oh, yes," she said, with a roll of her lovely eyes. "Gunnar tried to get me into his bed, but I'm not that hard up."
Pia was a good-looking woman, and Austin wasn't surprised at Jepsen's attempt; but he hadn't driven all this way to tune in on the local romances. "I heard there was a fish operation of some sort up the coast."
"Yes, you'll see it from the cliffs. Ugly concrete and metal build- ings. The harbor is full of their fish cages. They raise fish there and ship it out. The local fishermen don't like it. The fishing around the old harbor has gone bad. No one from town works there. Not even
Gunnar anymore."
"He worked at the fish farm?"
"In the beginning. Something to do with construction. He used his money to buy his houses and lives off the rentals."
"Do you get many visitors here?" Austin was watching a sleek blue yacht coming into the harbor.
"Bird-watchers and fishermen." She followed Austin's eyes. "Like those men in that pretty boat. It's owned by a rich Spaniard, I hear. They say he came all the way from Spain for the fishing." Austin turned back to Pia. "You speak English very well." "We learn it in the schools along with Danish. And my husband and I spent some time in England when we were first married. I don't get much chance to speak it." She lifted the fish under Austin's nose and said, "Would you like to come to my house for dinner? I could practice my English."
"It wouldn't be too much trouble?"
"No, no. Come by after your walk. My house is behind the church."
They agreed to meet in a few hours, and Austin drove to the trail- head. The gravel path climbed gradually through rolling moors splashed with wildflowers, and passed near a small lake, almost per- fectly round, that looked as if it were made of cold crystal. About a mile from the lake, he came upon the ruins of an old farm and an an- cient graveyard.
The path grew steeper and less visible. As Pia advised, he followed the carefully piled heaps of rock that marked the way. He could see flocks of sheep so far away that they looked like bits of lint. Tower- ing in the distance were layered mountains with cascading wedding- veil waterfalls.
The trail led to the cliffs, where hundreds ofseabirds filled the air, balancing delicately on updrafts of air. Tall sea stacks soared from the bay, their flat summits wreathed in fog. Austin chewed on a Power- Bar and thought that the Faroes must be the most otherworldly place on the planet.
He kept on going until he stood atop a ridge that gave him a panoramic view of the serrated coast. A rounded headland separated Skaalshavn from a smaller inlet. Clustered along the shore of the old harbor were dozens of neatly arranged buildings. As he surveyed the scene below, he felt a drop of rain on his cheek. Dark billowing clouds were rolling in from the layered mountains to obliterate the sun. He started down from the exposed ridge. Even with switch- backs easing the vertical drop, the going was hard on the steep trail, and he had to move slowly until the ground leveled out again. As he approached sea level, the heavens opened up. He kept heading to- ward the lights of the town, and before long he was at his car.
Pia took one look at the drenched and bedraggled figure at her door and shook her head.
"You look like you've crawled out of the sea." She pulled Austin in by the sleeve and ordered him to go into the bathroom and strip. Austin was too wet to protest. While he was undressing, she cracked the door open and tossed in a towel and dry clothes.
"I was sure my husband's clothes would fit," she said approvingly, when Austin ventured out in the shirt and pants. "He was a big man like you."
While Pia set the table, Austin spread his clothes out next to a wood stove, then stood practically on top of it, basking in the heat, until she informed him that dinner was ready.
The baked fresh cod melted in his mouth. They washed dinner down with a light homemade white wine. Dessert was a sweet raisin pudding. Over their meal, she talked about her life in the Faroes, and Austin told her a little about his NUMA work. She was fascinated by his travels to exotic places for his NUMA assignments.
"I forgot to ask, did you have a good walk, even with the rain?" Pia said as she cleared the dishes.
"I climbed to the top of the cliffs. The views were incredible. I saw the fish farm you mentioned. Do they allow visitors?"
"Oh no/9 Pia replied, with a shake other head. "They don't let anyone in. Like I said before, none of the village men work there. There's a road along the shore that they used when they were build- ing, but it's blocked off with a high fence. Everything comes and goes by sea. They say it's like a separate town out there."
"Sounds interesting. Too bad no one can get in."
Pia refilled Austin's glass and gave him a sly look. "I could get in in a minute if I wanted to, through the Mermaid's Gate."
He shook his head, unsure he had heard her correctly. "The Mer- maid's Gate?"
"That's what my father used to call the natural arch at the edge of the old harbor. He used to take me out sometimes in his boat, and we'd go there. He never took me in. It's dangerous because of the cur- rents and rocks. Some men have drowned trying to go through the gate, so the fishermen stay away. They say it's haunted by the souls of the dead. You can hear them moaning, but it's only the way the wind blows through the caves."