III. Anthropocena Between the Drops

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Italy, 2041

Vasco was dying. The presence of his death lingered in the sweltering quiet of the room. It waited patiently for him in the sunlight that filtered through the shutters his daughter had closed at dawn. It beckoned to him, dancing between the specks of dust in the light. But still, life had a hold on him; its weakening grip reaching for him through the door that stood ajar. 

In the other room, he could hear his daughter doing the dishes. She moved slowly, placing each plate, each mug carefully into the water, pausing before setting it aside to let each drop drip off its surface. Water was scarce; better not to waste it. The rationing had begun many years ago. First, they had banned the watering of lawns in the summer months, but as the summers grew hotter and the winters shorter, restrictions had tightened. This year had brought with it an almost rainless spring and the earliest restrictions to be put in place so far. 

Vasco turned his head to catch a glimpse of the pines outside the house through the gaps in the shutters and blinked against the burning sensation as a pearl of sweat dripped from his forehead into his eye. When he regained his vision, he squinted to make out the swaying branches. The wind had gathered in strength at the beginning of the week but brought no relief. It was a hot, dry wind blowing from the south that made the temperatures of the already-too-warm summer surge and dried out the ground. Another summer, another heatwave, and when it would finally rain, the Earth would be unable to take in the water.

Northern Sweden, 2041

Rain pattered against the windowpanes. Since the beginning of the summer, the sky had been persistently grey, the only change in weather being a rollercoaster of drizzle and cloudbursts. I leaned against the counter, closed my eyes, and listened for the water in the kettle begin to simmer, then come to a boil that drowned out the sound of the rain. 

“It’s a proper Swedish summer.” I jumped at the sound of Cansu’s voice coming from the kitchen door and spun around. 

“It’s a mystery how, after all those years with you, you have not yet managed to give me a heart attack.” I cast her a grim look but turned quickly to hide my smile. Cansu laughed, and I could hear her steps and floorboards creaking softly under her weight as she crossed through the kitchen.

“And it’s not a proper Swedish summer. People have been saying that for years.” 

I reached into the cupboard overhead, pushing aside a few chipped mugs and the jar of dandelion coffee, stacking boxes of herbal teas to be able to grab a tin box in the far corner. “And the worse the weather got, the colder and wetter the summers became, the more I’ve heard that phrase repeated. Over and over and over again as if that would make it true, as if there had never been a sunny midsommar.”

The box was small and unassuming, scratched and dented, quite possibly the most unlikely candidate for a treasure chest. Cansu peered over my shoulder as I tugged on the lid, which, after a moment, relented. 

“Ava?” She leaned closer, standing on tiptoes, one hand resting on my shoulder to peer into the box. I could not help but grin. I had waited for this moment for months, to see the look on her face when I’d pull out that little box, hidden away in the far end of the cupboard. “Is that real coffee?”

Instead of answering, I held the box close to her nose. She took a careful sniff at first, then closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. 

“Where in hell did you get that from?”

“Do you remember when we ran into Lars that week it snowed? He mentioned that his uncle had stocked up on coffee before the shortages. So, it’s a bit old and I probably paid him close to what he must have paid for an entire pack, but, well, it’s coffee!”

I pulled the French press close and tipped half of the ground coffee into it. “I’m pretty sure it’s enough for two cups now and maybe two more for Christmas.”

Steam rose from the water as I poured it, and with it, the rich and earthy smell of coffee rose into the air. 

Italy, 2041

Alessia looked out of the window and hummed to the song on the radio. Outside, the pines were bending to the wind, dust swirling from the ground. She placed the last mug onto the drying rack and covered the dishes with a towel, but left the dishwater in the sink. Her gaze wandered to the sky as she wiped off her hands, even though she knew what she would find: endless blue without a promise of rain. 

Her gaze flickered over to the door behind which her father had been confined to his bed for weeks. Every time she pushed open the door to check on him, her fear of finding him lying still and lifeless clutched at her heart until she saw his chest rise and fall with his shallow breath, even though she knew that death would come as a release for him. Even when he had been forced to sell his sheep due to old age and shrinking pastures, he had spent most of his time under the open sky. Only when the pain in his knees, the encroaching floods of the winter, and the sweltering heat of the summer prevented him from walking further than the nearest hill—now bare and bleak where once trees had covered it—had he retreated to the house. He had been restless at first, then listless. 

Alessia was about to turn away from the door when a rustling in Vasco’s room caught her attention. With a few steps, she crossed the distance between the sink and the door she had left ajar and moved to open it. Her hand was already on the door handle when she saw the figure through the gap between the door and the door frame. It was possibly a woman, though it was hard to tell. Her skin was dark and gnarled like the bark of an old-growth tree, her hair was a tangle of twigs and leaves, and when she tilted her head, Alessia thought she caught a glimpse of eyes as dark and deep as the shadows looming in a dense forest. She wanted to push open the door, step in between the creature and her father, but remained rooted to the spot.

A hush fell over the room, only broken by the sound of Vasco’s strenuous breathing. He turned his head towards the creature, and a faint smile broke over his face. It was the first real smile, unburdened and genuine, that Alessia had seen him give in a long time. The creature held out her hand with fingers slender as willow branches. 

“Now you will walk in the wild again, old friend.” Although Alessia saw her mouth move, her voice did not seem to come from her. It was all around her, impossible to determine its origin. It raised the hairs on her arms and crawled into the sleeves of her shirt, washed over her skin. Like a breeze. 

Alessia backed away from the door and sank down on a kitchen chair. The sound of Vasco’s breathing ceased, and although she was sure that the creature was gone from the room, she had left it together with life, leaving her father’s body; she did not dare enter the room. Not yet. 

Outside, white flakes tumbled through the air and clung to the window—surreal like snow under the summer sun. The sky was blue and empty except for a dark billowing cloud rising from the hills in the distance.

Northern Sweden, 2041

We sat in silence. Each of us was lost in her own thoughts, our thoughts lost between the drops of rain that still drummed against the window. I took another sip of coffee, savored its taste. Tea was nice. Dandelion coffee was acceptable. But neither of them came close to coffee. 

Something moved outside. Blurred by the water running down the window, I could barely make out her shape and yet it was unmistakably her. Over the years, I had grown accustomed to her presence: A faint movement in the shadow, a whisper in the trees, bark skin, and glowing eyes. She moved smoothly like an animal stalking its prey, passed the window, and vanished into the copse that began where the garden ended. I sighed.

“We’d better make sure the cellar is waterproof. There’s gonna be some flooding.”

Cansu raised her gaze from the mug, her glasses fogged with steam, and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

I shrugged. “Have I ever been wrong about it?”

This story is inspired by the Climate Walk project and the accounts of the impacts of climate change that the project participants gathered during their collective hike through Europe.

Written by Merle Emrich.

Cover illustration by Amr Abbas.