‘Was he involved in their deaths?’ Matthew was clearly still annoyed about Thora’s impulsive trip outside. And no doubt his anger was fuelled by the fact that he and Finnbogi had sat by the window and peered through a crack in the curtain when the floodlight came on, but had seen nothing. It hadn’t crossed their minds to go outside to see what was up. Doubtless it irritated him that, for once, she had proven to be more resourceful than him.
‘Maybe,’ she replied. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’ They moved into the lounge, where she told them everything she could recall of her conversation with Igimaq. Neither man understood his statement about marks. They guessed that he had meant some sort of signs or symbols. Natural phenomena that in a primitive understanding could be considered omens of hidden danger. After drinking the remainder of the Opal schnapps Thora returned to the office building, now accompanied by Matthew. When they entered the meeting room Bella was not pacing the floor fretfully, as Thora had hoped, but snoring under her duvet.
Chapter 20
Oqqapia sighed in resignation as she surveyed the kitchen. There were no clean glasses or dishes. The stack in the washing-up bowl had become so tall that it was no longer possible to wash what one needed to use at any particular time without running the risk of all the crockery crashing to the floor. She couldn’t afford to replace the dishes, so she had recently resorted to wiping off the glasses and dishes as they were needed, using a ragged old dishcloth that was hardly any cleaner than they were. It wasn’t even as if she could wash up even if she did pull herself together. The village had no running water, which meant that she had to fill the house’s tank before she could do anything about it. Long ago the authorities had drilled for water in the village, but they hadn’t thought to lay pipes to the houses. If the villagers wanted access to water, they had to fetch it, drawing it from a pump in a little pumphouse into various-sized tanks. In their household it was Naruana’s job, but he’d been unusually lazy lately and in that kind of mood he was useless. Oqqapia was completely different, perhaps because she couldn’t allow herself not to care. Her job wasn’t much to speak of, but it was still important. Every three days she took on the task of emptying all the village houses’ indoor latrines into the sea. She made many trips with the foul-smelling buckets down to the beach, and although her burden was lighter on the way back she wasn’t able to carry more than two buckets at a time. When she started this job three years ago she made numerous attempts to carry four buckets at once but quickly discovered that this was unworkable as too much splashed up out of them along the way. Therefore, she had no choice but to make more trips with fewer buckets, and if she missed a shift she soon heard about it. The same people that had a go at her the few times it happened never complimented her when everything went according to schedule. She wished there were other work to be had, but the villagers knew that no one was waiting anxiously to take over from her and were thus careful not to keep her informed about other jobs that occasionally came up.
Oqqapia wasn’t about to add carrying water to the tank to her latrine duties. Naruana would have to do his own job. If she went and fetched the water for him he would take it for granted, and before she knew it it would be her job and he would be left with no responsibilities. So she had to settle for staring queasily at a juice carton before drinking from its spout. A sour smell rose from the frayed cardboard every time she raised it to her lips. The contents were still all right but the instant before the liquid entered her mouth was difficult. If there were just one clean glass.
Naruana appeared in the doorway. His black hair was dirty and hadn’t been cut for ages, and although his bare shoulders were still well-muscled they didn’t come close to looking like they had when she saw him undress for the first time. It was painfully clear that life had been tough on them both, and it wasn’t finished with them yet. She had removed the mirror from over the bathroom sink a long time ago. It was bad enough to wake up feeling as if death had settled into her guts, without having to look at herself to boot. But that was a temporary respite. She could see herself, and how things had turned out for her, reflected in Naruana.
‘Give me a sip.’ Naruana held out his hand and took the half-empty carton. He raised it to his lips and drained it, then put it down on the kitchen table, adding it to the pile of empty beer cans. ‘Are we all out?’ He didn’t need to explain what he meant; they were too similar.
Oqqapia nodded. ‘You drank the last can last night.’ She’d searched the house high and low for a beer, without success. In fact she couldn’t recall which of them had drunk the last one, but she supposed it had been him. That’s how it always was and how it always would be. He took priority, even though she contributed more to the household. For instance, they’d bought the beer with the money she’d received from the foreign woman. If they hadn’t used it, yesterday evening would have been pretty miserable; of course it had been dull anyway, beer or no beer, but that was another story. Alcohol numbed her feelings and made life bearable. When everything came good there would finally be no reason to drink. But when would that be and what would it take for it to happen? Two years ago she, like other villagers, had thought that better days were ahead with the arrival of the mine they’d heard was going to be dug in the vicinity. Finally she, and the others, would have more than an occasional half a day’s work, and life would regain its purpose. Wake up, work and sleep. That was better than wake up, drink and sleep. She still remembered the disappointment all the villagers had felt when it turned out that the mine would be in a place they had been taught to avoid and with which it was forbidden to tamper. The numbness that consumed everyone and everything in the wake of this discovery was awful, actually worse than life had been before the future appeared to hold some promise.
‘You shouldn’t have talked to that woman.’ Naruana could say that now, but he hadn’t complained when she came home with money. He had run immediately to Kajoq, who ran the village shop – if it could be called a shop. One never knew whether a product would be available since goods were supplied only twice a year, in spring and autumn. Fresh foods weren’t available except for a few weeks a year, but Kajoq never failed in one respect: there was always plenty of beer and liquor. She couldn’t recall him ever running short there. ‘You shouldn’t have talked to her.’ Naruana was repeating himself, like the old men who sat on the pier and went on about the same things day in and day out.
‘I didn’t tell her anything. Just suggested that she talk to your dad.’ Oqqapia knew this would cause him pain. Every piece of news concerning his father seemed to hurt him, no matter how insignificant. Despite this, she saw no reason not to mention him. She’d learned from one of the teachers who had lived in the village for a time when she was a child always to tell the truth, but also that unspoken words were sometimes just as misleading as outright lies. But what should one include in the telling, and what was better left out? Still, she did what she could to live by this maxim, despite the fact that many other virtues she had once held in high esteem had long since departed.
‘Why on earth did you say that? Why don’t you just invite her round here as well?’ Naruana turned away from the open refrigerator towards her. He was even angrier than before, but for other reasons now than just the lack of Coke or juice to be found there.
Now Oqqapia was in trouble, and her cheeks reddened slightly. Should she take this opportunity and tell him that she had actually promised the woman that she could use their phone to call, or should she not? She hadn’t technically invited her to visit, so she could deny that accusation in good conscience. She decided not to mention it even though she knew this was perhaps not entirely honest. Maybe the woman wouldn’t come, and if she did appear Naruana might not even be at home. It was just as likely that he would be down at the pier or visiting someone who might have beer to spare. ‘Come on. You were happy enough about it yesterday.’
‘I’m never happy. You should know that.’ He slammed the refrigerator door, causing the jars of jam and other food in it, most of it gone off, to clatter. That was another thing that had been neglected, besides the washing up: clearing out the refrigerator. ‘I just want to be left alone by that lot and you’re stirring things up by talking to them. If no one says anything they’ll just leave and everything will carry on as usual.’
Neither said anything further. Everything carrying on as usual meant two things: futile drunkenness for them, and contempt from those villagers who hadn’t gone down the same road as they had. These people were in the majority, more likely to be out and about and therefore more likely to pass one by on the street. The others – the ones who were in the same boat as the two of them – seldom left their own houses and slept late waiting for the hangover to pass so they could get up and start the vicious circle once again.
‘I also told the woman about Usinna.’ Oqqapia didn’t know why she was mentioning this. If Naruana was
