“Anything.”
“I’m not trying to erase what we are, Anna. I’m trying to give us a choice. Right now, the only choice is fish or starve. But if Phillips finds what I think they will…” He let the sentence hang, heavy as a trawler’s anchor.
“Your father also said the Germans would never leave. He was wrong twice.”
HC Eriksen stood at the edge of the harbor, the North Sea wind cutting through his wool coat like a disappointed father. Behind him, the fishing boats creaked in their berths, their nets hanging slack. In front of him—nothing but gray water and the impossible promise of oil.
HC didn’t turn. “It does. It owes us a future.”
HC took the telegram back, folded it carefully, and tucked it next to his heart. “Tomorrow. The first rig is a rust bucket held together by hope. But hope, Anna—hope is the one resource we’ve never drilled for.”
That night, Anna dreamed of oil seeping into her mother’s grave. HC dreamed of a city lit by flares instead of stars.
“What if you’re wrong?” she whispered.
She looked at him—really looked. This man who had once taught her to tie knots, who had danced at her wedding, who had held her father’s hand when the last big storm took three men from the fleet.
Stavanger, 1969 – Six months before the Ekofisk discovery
Anna looked at the water. Then at the sky, heavy with November.
Anna laughed, but there was no joy in it. “The future? My father says you’re a fool. Drilling in the North Sea—he calls it ‘fighting God for a coin.’”
“Just promise me one thing,” she said.
“When do you leave?” she asked.
“Anything.”
“I’m not trying to erase what we are, Anna. I’m trying to give us a choice. Right now, the only choice is fish or starve. But if Phillips finds what I think they will…” He let the sentence hang, heavy as a trawler’s anchor.
“Your father also said the Germans would never leave. He was wrong twice.”
HC Eriksen stood at the edge of the harbor, the North Sea wind cutting through his wool coat like a disappointed father. Behind him, the fishing boats creaked in their berths, their nets hanging slack. In front of him—nothing but gray water and the impossible promise of oil. Lykkeland -State of Happiness- - season 1 -HC E...
HC didn’t turn. “It does. It owes us a future.”
HC took the telegram back, folded it carefully, and tucked it next to his heart. “Tomorrow. The first rig is a rust bucket held together by hope. But hope, Anna—hope is the one resource we’ve never drilled for.”
That night, Anna dreamed of oil seeping into her mother’s grave. HC dreamed of a city lit by flares instead of stars. “Anything
“What if you’re wrong?” she whispered.
She looked at him—really looked. This man who had once taught her to tie knots, who had danced at her wedding, who had held her father’s hand when the last big storm took three men from the fleet.
Stavanger, 1969 – Six months before the Ekofisk discovery But if Phillips finds what I think they
Anna looked at the water. Then at the sky, heavy with November.
Anna laughed, but there was no joy in it. “The future? My father says you’re a fool. Drilling in the North Sea—he calls it ‘fighting God for a coin.’”
“Just promise me one thing,” she said.
“When do you leave?” she asked.