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 his 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
‘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
