The Day is Dark Page 16

  Arnar nodded. ‘No, probably not.’ He thought for a moment and realized that he shouldn’t discuss this with this woman or anyone else. He was not so stupid as to think that blathering about it would change anything. Some things were simply impossible to change. The dead don’t come back to life. He tried to compensate for this oversight.

  ‘Don’t worry. I don’t need to talk to anyone, I’m just a little distracted at the moment.’ He stood up. ‘I’d better come to this meeting.’ His hands were trembling more than ever before. ‘Would you mind checking whether I could have something for this?’ He held out his hands and they both watched his fingers quiver, almost as if he were doing it on purpose, exaggerating his condition like the people now spilling their guts at the meeting. But he was not. His nervous system was perfectly capable of making his fingers shake on their own. Perhaps it was a consequence of the chill in his wretched heart, from which no warmth in this world could free him. Pills would change nothing; he regretted having asked for them and hoped that the woman would forget his request. He didn’t want to see a doctor; he didn’t want to see anyone. He only wished to be left alone, to allow his discomfort to root itself so deeply in his body that it would branch out into his bone marrow. He did not deserve to feel any better than he did now; if he suffered hellishly enough, perhaps over time he could cleanse himself of the guilt and try to start a new life.

  Igimaq had nothing against waiting, and his old friend Sikki must have known that he wouldn’t give up and leave. He knew Igimaq too well for that. Sikki should have tried to find another way to get rid of him, because there was no hunter better at sitting motionless and letting time pass. He spent days and days out on the ice, patiently awaiting his prey. His father had taught him the best way to do this: free oneself almost completely from one’s thoughts, allow them to wander as if in a daydream. He could induce this state of mind without closing his eyes, and, more importantly, without shifting his attention from the environment and what was in his line of vision. After Sikki’s wife had slammed the door in his face, declaring that her husband was not at home and was not expected in the near future, he had taken a seat on the steps outside the house and started his wait. This was his third attempt to meet the man, and this time he had been careful to approach the house unseen, so that Sikki would not be aware of him. He had also chosen to come a bit later in the day, when it was likely that Sikki would be at home.

  Sikki’s wife looked out now and then in the hope that he had gone away, but apart from that, little disturbed the hunter. A teenage girl had walked past and looked askance at him before quickening her pace and disappearing down the street. There was no one left in town who dressed like him, so she did not need great powers of deduction to work out who was sitting there on the steps. Her gait reminded him of his daughter Usinna when she was the same age; he’d always been enamoured by the way every step she took appeared to have a purpose, to bring her closer to the unexpected adventures that she was convinced awaited her around the corner. He hadn’t been surprised when she pressed hard to be allowed to go and study in Denmark several years later, and he hadn’t opposed her, which would have been useless. Usinna would have gone anyway. Even so, he regretted not having tried to forbid her leaving, to demand that she take care of her family, find herself a husband and sustain the circle of life. Maybe everything would have turned out differently if he’d done that.

  He heard the door creak behind him and looked round. Sikki stood in the doorway frowning down at him. ‘Look who’s here. You clearly haven’t changed much, Igimaq. Except your appearance, because you look as decrepit as I do.’

  The hunter stood up and stared into the eyes of his childhood friend. ‘I need to talk to you.’ There was no reason to reproach Sikki for making him sit out in the cold. ‘I choose to do so where we will be left alone.’ He suspected that Sikki would prefer not to let him in and although he had nothing against continuing to sit outside, the subject matter was sensitive and not appropriate for discussing in public.

  Sikki frowned again but signalled to him to come inside. He showed him to a small and rather unattractive room that was lit by a single floor lamp. ‘I need to replace the bulb in the ceiling light,’ muttered Sikki as he sat down. He had an undeniable air of authority, although he wasn’t like his father, who would never have showed such weakness as to allow his gaze to budge from Igimaq’s face. He would have stared the hunter down, and easily. ‘I’m tired, Igimaq. What’s so urgent?’

  ‘More people have come to the work camp.’ Igimaq felt uncomfortable in the chair in which he sat. Sikki hadn’t offered to take his jacket and he was boiling hot in his thick winter clothing.

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ Sikki shifted in his chair and reached out to turn up the heat on the radiator.

  ‘Don’t you remember what we were taught, Sikki?’ The hunter stared at his friend. ‘We are responsible for this area.’ He recalled as if it were yesterday how the two of them had been entrusted with this task; Igimaq because he was a direct descendant of the greatest hunters in the village on his father’s side, and Sikki because he was in line to become the next angekokk, or shaman, as his father and grandfather had been before him. Sikki was supposed to be able to heal the sick and communicate with the dead, although Igimaq had never seen any sign of such abilities in his friend. When the two of them were entrusted with this great responsibility they were a full sixteen years old and it was clear that they would follow the path intended for them, the trail that their ancestors had already blazed, although Sikki probably did not possess the powers that his ancestors had been endowed with at birth.

  Sikki narrowed his eyes and breathed through his nose, as though to make himself appear tougher. It did not work, and he seemed to sense it. He adopted a more normal expression and began. ‘The world has changed, Igimaq. What we were taught no longer applies, and the fact that you are trying to uphold the old way of life doesn’t change the fact that it’s on the way out. Take us, for example. I don’t have a son and yours is hardly following in your footsteps, as I understand it.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it, Sikki.’ Igimaq felt a bead of sweat run down his back. ‘You know that very well. This isn’t about old times.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ muttered Sikki. ‘What do you suggest I do? Drive the people away?’ He snorted. ‘This mine is the best thing that has happened here in years. Maybe we’ll finally have work for the young folk. You have no idea how badly they want respectable jobs. It’s not healthy for anyone to live on what comes in an envelope once a month for doing nothing at all. They’ve got to have something to do and it should be as clear to you as it is to me that they can’t make a living in the old ways. That time has passed. No one wants to buy what we have to sell. These days we’re lucky to get three hundred Danish crowns per sealskin, if we find someone to buy them. You know more than anyone how much work goes into tanning the skins.’

  The hunter shrugged, causing several more drops of sweat to run down his spine. All the trades that had previously kept the village alive had been prohibited. It would be easier for them to try selling snow than sealskins or whale products. ‘You swore to your ancestors that you would ensure the area wouldn’t be built on or disturbed. The mine can be dug elsewhere.’

  Sikki stared at Igimaq, no longer foolishly trying to assert his authority. Instead he wore a look of sadness, as if he felt more sorry for his friend than he could put into words. ‘It doesn’t work like that. Either the mine will be there or in some other place entirely, so far away that it may as well be one of the stars in the sky.’ He shook his head very slowly as if he wished that they were sixteen again and ready and able for anything, not two old men who had lost their grip on what mattered. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘What has changed since my Usinna was there?’ Igimaq felt his heart skip a beat and for a second the oppressive heat didn’t matter to him. ‘Tell me.’

  A large drop of sweat formed at Sikki’s hairline and ran down hi
s forehead. ‘Don’t blame me for that.’

  ‘I’m not, Sikki. I’m simply asking you what has changed. You took your responsibilities very seriously back then.’ He was unable to continue. The gait of the young girl he had watched walk down the street had ripped open old wounds he had thought healed.

  Sikki rubbed the arm of his chair with his thick, strong hands. ‘I’ve just explained it to you. These days everything is at stake. If there is no mine there will be no village. Everyone here will go. Most of them are still scared of the mine but that will change, and then our young folk might be able to finally hold their heads higher. I’m telling you, if nothing becomes of the mine, everyone will leave. Maybe not tomorrow, but over time.’

  ‘What does it matter?’ Igimaq spat, displaying more anger than he had intended. ‘If our people want to live their lives in the same way as those in the cities then there is no reason for them to keep living here. There’s enough work to be had in Nuuk for everyone who lives here.’

  Sikki had no answer for this. ‘It will be all right. Trust me.’ ‘Like I trusted you with Usinna?’ said Igimaq softly. ‘It cost her her life. How many more people need to die before the price of these mining jobs of yours will be considered too high?’

  ‘That’s enough for now.’ Sikki stood up, his cheeks red. ‘It’s impossible to discuss this with you. You don’t understand.’

  Igimaq followed the example of his former friend and stood up as well. ‘I understand perfectly. It’s you who understands nothing.’ He walked out of the room, refusing to greet Sikki’s wife who stood wide-eyed in the hallway. She had probably been listening in but he couldn’t care less about that now. Sikki followed him to the vestibule, which could hardly be crossed for the pairs of shoes covering the little floor. As Igimaq opened the door Sikki spoke again, wanting to get in the last word.

  ‘It was in your power to save her, Igimaq,’ he said slowly, without much emotion. ‘She even thought right until the end that you would, but you chose your honour and your dusty old obligations to our ancestors over her. Don’t forget that when you condemn me.’

  As if the hunter would ever forget.

  Chapter 16

  21 March 2008

  ‘The snowmobile and the cars didn’t break down by themselves. Who could have tampered with them?’ Alvar directed his words at a flower pot on a windowsill in the lounge. The plant had certainly seen better days and it now lay on its side, brown and withered. All minds now focused on the theory that something had been added to the petrol tanks: sugar, or something else that had damaged the engines when they were started. ‘Wasn’t there also a suspicion that the drilling equipment had been tampered with?’ Alvar turned to the team, looked at them without meeting any of their eyes, then started examining his hands. ‘That’s what I thought, anyway.’

  ‘I need you to come with me and photograph this, Alvar,’ said Thóra as cheerfully as she could without sounding idiotic. ‘It would also be good if you could prepare a short report on what you’ve found out.’ She turned to Matthew. ‘We’re even wondering whether we should make arrangements to transport the vehicles to Iceland to have them looked over by mechanics, or get someone to come here.’

  Matthew nodded and made an unsuccessful attempt to suppress a yawn. He had been silent since the end of supper. It looked as though the lack of sleep the last few nights had started to take its toll. The simple food had scarcely increased his stamina: pasta with tinned sauce that had so little flavour that they might as well have used milk. He wasn’t alone in being tired: Dr Finnbogi had found it difficult to swallow his food between yawns, and it looked to Thóra as if Friðrikka had dozed off. Eyjólfur had gone straight to his room to sleep after supper, while the others had gathered in the lounge, with the exception of Bella, who had been assigned the task of washing up. Perhaps this strange herd mentality could be attributed to fatigue; Thóra didn’t know about the others, but she always felt sleepy after being out in the open for a long time and breathing in too much oxygen. ‘Can’t we move the return journey forward?’ Friðrikka appeared more than just tired; her face was grey and she had dark circles under her eyes. ‘It was a mistake to come here.’

  ‘It won’t be long now,’ muttered the doctor. He looked back towards the window where the potted plant stood, and stared at the pitch-black glass. ‘That is, if the weather stays decent.’

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ said Thóra, with false optimism. She ignored the vague whistling of the wind that carried in from outside. ‘In any case, won’t you be able to finish all your work?’

  Friðrikka nodded miserably. ‘Of course, of course. I’ll be finished with most of it tomorrow, and then I’ll make copies of what I can’t go over and look at it back in Iceland.’ Talking about work seemed to cheer her up a bit. ‘It hasn’t been that much work; they didn’t accomplish much after I left, so going over the data has been relatively easy. They should never have tried to work here beyond the New Year.’ She added, smugly: ‘As I actually pointed out more than once.’

  Thóra vaguely recalled seeing it mentioned in the documents accompanying the contract that conditions at the work site made it almost impossible to work there during the first four months of the year. It had been left to Berg Technology to decide when the work would be done, but this had been pointed out to ensure the company realized that it could not aim for full-capacity production all year round. ‘Why did they keep working after the New Year?’ she asked. ‘Was it because of the delays?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Friðrikka. ‘This came up before I resigned and understandably the idea of carrying on was not very popular. Part of the reason the employees were willing to take on this job was the long winter break. That was the last straw for me; after Oddný Hildur’s disappearance there was no way I was going to take on extra responsibilities for such a crappy employer.’

  Alvar stood up dramatically. It was as if he had been insulted by Friðrikka’s negativity and could not bear any more of this dreariness. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ exclaimed the doctor. ‘I was going to offer you a nightcap.’ He slapped the arm of his chair with both hands. ‘Is everyone going to bed?’

  Alvar stopped awkwardly in his tracks. It was abundantly clear that he was dying for a drink and would happily have taken back his previous announcement. ‘Well, I guess bed-time could wait a bit,’ he said, sitting down again gently. ‘I’m not in that big a rush.’

  Thóra tried not to smile at the poor man, mindful of his purchases at the duty free shop. ‘Good idea.’ She smiled at the doctor. ‘I have a bottle of Opal liquorice schnapps if anyone is interested.’ Matthew frowned, but stood up nevertheless to go and get the drink, which Thóra knew he could only have found less appealing if it were popcorn-flavoured. The doctor followed him and Thóra hoped that while walking down the corridor they would take the opportunity to discuss the bloodstains on Dóri’s pillow.

  After examining them thoroughly Thóra had dragged Matthew back over to the office building to show him the old photographs and convince him of how oddly similar they were to the stains on the beds of the unfortunate first settlers. Matthew had had to admit that the similarities were striking, and before they sat down at the supper table they had got the doctor to examine the evidence as well as the photos. Finnbogi couldn’t actually say anything about the stains or why they appeared to have doppelgangers from the past, but he felt that it was probably coincidence. Thóra found this rather unlikely and tried to convince him that for unknown reasons someone had tried to imitate the ugly scene in the tents. However, he and Matthew both seemed adamant that this did not prove the original inhabitants had died of anything other than starvation, let alone been murdered – their main reasoning being that no one would have had any incentive to want these people dead. They could hardly have been engaged in disputes with others and they were certainly not in conflict with neighbouring settlements, since there were none around. The men relented a bit when Thóra asked wh
ether death by starvation caused bleeding from the head, but they warmed to their theme again when the doctor said that the stains in the photographs were likely to be something other than blood; shadows, or some sort of dirt that could be explained by something other than violence. If they were bloodstains, they would be both larger and more widespread. However, although it was difficult to reach any conclusion about the old photographs, it seemed pretty clear to Thóra that the stains on the driller’s pillow could only be blood, although it wasn’t clear how it had got there.

  Bella walked into the lounge and they could see from her expression that doing the washing up hadn’t been her idea of a good time. Thóra found that understandable: the water was obtained by melting snow, so it took a long time to wash the few dishes and pots that they used. ‘I’m not doing that again,’ she thundered. ‘I don’t care how busy you lot pretend to be.’ She looked contemptuously at Thóra, Alvar and Friðrikka as they sat there relaxing.

  ‘My dear, sit down and unwind. It’s not as if we haven’t all had to do the dishes at some point.’ Friðrikka’s expression was no more friendly than Bella’s. Thóra felt as if she were at a gathering of people with social disorders. ‘We were just going to sit here and chat a bit. Hopefully about anything other than this work site.’ As she said this, Friðrikka looked right at Thóra.

  Thóra smiled back in the hope of lightening the mood. If Friðrikka always acted like this, she had nothing but sympathy for her co-workers in this isolated place. ‘I’m up for that,’ she said. ‘There are countless other topics. You get the ball rolling, and I won’t hold back.’

  No one said anything and while Bella took her seat the other three sat silently, staring straight ahead. The only topics that Thóra could think of were connected to their project and she suspected that the same went for Alvar and Friðrikka. She hoped Matthew and the doctor would get back soon with the drinks. That would certainly loosen their tongues, and even Alvar would talk the hind legs off a donkey after tossing back a few shots of Opal. Maybe things would get so lively that she would slip on some of her party clothes, since she had brought such a splendid variety. The floor of the corridor outside the lounge creaked and everyone cheered up.