Last Night in Nuuk

by Niviaq Korneliussen

  STAY

  IVIK

  I was eight years old when I first experienced it. My friend came to my classroom during playtime. She called me over. I ran happily up to her. She didn’t even say hello; all she said was that she no longer wanted to be my friend and she ran off. She had covered quite a distance down the long school corridor when I began to run after her. I was always the fastest and the strongest of all the girls and I caught up with her and stopped her. ‘Why are we not friends any more? Let’s be friends again,’ I said but she just walked away. ‘You always play with cars,’ she replied. ‘You don’t want to play with dolls.’ I was upset because I liked to play with her. But I was tired of always having to play with dolls, and forgot her as soon as I got new friends. After that, I would only play with boys. Without knowing why, I discovered that I was different from the other girls.

  I began to feel it when I was ten years old. One evening, we were playing football when a friend suddenly called out to me. I scored a quick goal and walked over to him. I was afraid that my team would lose and I asked him to hurry up because he was too shy to speak. ‘Will you go out with me?’ he asked me quietly. ‘Why?’ I asked, confused. ‘Because you’re so good at football,’ he said, ‘and because you’re so sweet.’ I said no and went back to the soccer field. I’d rather stay friends because girlfriends and boyfriends have to kiss. Lots of girls came to see us play and my friends and I began to agree among ourselves who was going to get who. They would say: ‘Who are you going to ask?’ ‘The one with the red jacket,’ I’d say. ‘I was going to ask her,’ one of my friends would say. ‘Then the one with the glasses over there,’ I’d say. We plucked up the courage and walked over to them one after the other. Some came back with a yes, others with a no. Hoping to receive a yes, I walked excitedly over to the girl with the glasses. She replied with a ‘Maybe’, and then after a pause, with a ‘No’. ‘Never mind, somebody will say yes to you,’ my friends said, consoling me. Without finding it strange, I began to play football again because some people just got a yes and others just got a no. It was as simple as that. Without giving it any further thought, I began to feel that I was more like the boys. This didn’t bother me at the time.

  I began to question it when I was fifteen years old. We were in the after-school recreation centre, when my friend came up to me, whispering: ‘I was with a girl yesterday,’ he said. ‘Have you been with a guy?’ he asked. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Do you want to be with a girl?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. When my friends talked about getting together with girls, I felt left out. Since I hadn’t dated or been with anybody, I couldn’t keep up with them. Maybe I wasn’t like the boys after all …

  When I was sixteen, I began to doubt if I’d ever feel like fitting in. One day when my mum and I were alone in the house, my mum came to my room after she’d finished in the kitchen. ‘Have you ever had a boyfriend?’ she asked. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Do you think you’ll have a boyfriend soon?’ she persisted. ‘No,’ I answered. All the girls I knew fell in love with boys, which I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t seem to fall in love with a boy when I was a girl. From that point on, I began to doubt who I resembled the most. I discovered that I was different from everybody.

  I was an enigma to my friends. They didn’t know which box to put me in. When they began to question me, I began to question them. I began to question why they called me into question. My parents, siblings and family began to be uncertain about me. They were uncertain about who I was. Since my family were uncertain about me, I began to be uncertain about myself. I was uncertain about why they were uncertain about me.

  Why do you always hang out with the boys?

  Why have you never had a boyfriend?

  Why have you never been with anybody?

  As they kept asking, I began to question where I should place myself. Since they continued to be uncertain about me, I began to be uncertain as to who I was. I questioned my uncertainty. They needed an answer and I felt I had to search for it. I found an answer when I was eighteen and moved to a bigger town to go to university. I went out one evening with friends and a young woman I didn’t know came over to me. ‘You’re sweet,’ she said. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ I said no. ‘But you’re into women, aren’t you?’ When I said no, she asked if it was all right to kiss me, and I said yes. I liked kissing this woman. After that kiss, I knew I wanted to be with a woman. I realised that I was different from everyone else. I just knew it. The answer was that I liked women.

  Though I had answered my friends’ and family’s questions, they didn’t stop asking.

  ‘Why are you into women?’

  Since I couldn’t give them any reason why, I began to question the need to question it. Since I no longer felt the need to question it, I stopped questioning myself. Since I couldn’t explain why I was into women, my childhood friends were no longer my friends: the ones I had fun with; the ones I got upset with; the ones I was best friends with, they all broke off contact with me because of my sexual orientation. Since I was unable to explain why I was into women, my family stopped speaking to me: my mum, who had carried me in her womb; my mum, who breastfed me; my mum, who brought me up; my mum, my own mum, couldn’t forgive me. My dad, who had given me my life; my dad, who had tucked me in; my dad, who played football with me; my dad, my own dad, was unable to understand me. Since they couldn’t accept that I was into women, I was no longer their daughter. They abandoned me, which was tough. It hurt an awful lot.

  Now I’m twenty-three years old. My friends are my family. They don’t question anything about me. They don’t feel the urge. They don’t ask me why I’m into women. They don’t question why some people are queer. They support me. They don’t desert me. I’ve fallen in love. I’m with somebody who doesn’t have any doubts. I have a nice girlfriend, I love her and she won’t leave me because I’m perfectly fine. She loves me for who I am.

  I’m not asked any longer.

  I’m not doubted any longer.

  I’m not being abandoned any longer.

  I’ve cleaned our apartment and the air is fresh. I’ve changed our bed linen and everything smells clean. I’ve made food and the kitchen smells good. I’ve lit the coloured candles. I’ve bought flowers for her; they’re on the table. When I’m ready for her to arrive, I turn the music on and take a seat on the sofa and wait. I’m so excited about spending the evening with her. I want her to have a nice time. I want our one-year anniversary to be unforgettable.

  ‘Hi,’ she says as she walks in.

  ‘Hi.’

  I walk over to greet her and give her a kiss.

  ‘What a nice smell; have you cooked something?’

  ‘Come into the dining room when you’re ready,’ I say, smiling broadly.

  She looks surprised as she walks in and gives me a hug.

  ‘What did you make? Everything looks so nice,’ she says.

  ‘We met a year ago today. I love you.’

  I kiss her. She puts her arms around me and kisses me.

  ‘Please, sit down. Enjoy.’

  I open the bottle of wine and pour her a glass. An unforgettable evening has begun. This is love. This is happiness. This is life.

  ‘Why?’ she asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answer.

  ‘I’m asking you. Please answer me. WHY?’

  ‘I don’t know! I can’t explain why!’

  ‘Try. Please explain.’

  ‘I just told you that I don’t know why!’

  She gets out of bed.

  ‘Don’t go!’ I plead.

  ‘Then try to explain,’ she says, irritated.

  ‘I can’t explain it!’ I start to cry.

  She covers her naked body with a long T-shirt.

  She sits next to me and strokes my hair.

  ‘I’m not angry. I just want to know why,’ she says.

  ‘I don’t know why I’m the way I am.’

  ‘Don’t you like me?’ she asks.


  ‘I like you a lot.’

  ‘Are you bored with me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s the reason then?’

  ‘I’ve just told you, I don’t know why!’ I say angrily.

  ‘IVINNGUAQ! Why won’t you let me touch you?’

  ‘Sara! Stop it!’

  ‘WHY AM I NOT ALLOWED TO FUCK YOU?’ she shouts.

  I cry even harder. I don’t know how to tell her it just doesn’t feel right any more. She gets up, takes her duvet and pillow, leaves the bedroom and makes a beeline for the living room. An unforgettable evening. The beginning of the new question mark. The night of doubt.

  When she comes home, I walk quietly over to her. I look at her apologetically and when she gives me a little smile, I see that I’m forgiven. I hug her straight away. I love her so much that when I hurt her, I hurt myself too. For the rest of the evening, I just want to make everything good again.

  ‘Sorry.’

  I kiss her on the neck.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ she says and gives me a hug. ‘I hope you’ll feel better.’

  ‘I’m sure I will.’

  We hold each other close that evening. Although we don’t say much, we connect. Sara doesn’t try to have sex with me. I’m glad she doesn’t try. Question mark. Doubt.

  Today is a new day. She’s on her way home and I take off my clothes. Although I took a bath this morning, I decide to take a quick shower. I wash myself thoroughly where I sweat the most. I rinse my crotch. I want to please her. I need to prove that I want her. I have to show her that I can. My short hair dries quickly. Naked, I light candles and play some music. I lie down on the bed and put grapes on my body. In my navel. Next to my crotch. Between my small breasts. On my throat. While I wait, I eat the one that’s in my mouth and pick a new one. I would laugh if I saw myself. I switch off my thoughts so I won’t be embarrassed. I try to think only of Sara because if I begin to think of myself, I want to get up. But I need to make an effort. I get a text and take my mobile out in small movements.

  THANK GOD! My plan has been scuppered and I sit up quickly and eat the grapes. I put on my bathrobe and throw the keys down to her. At least I made an effort!

  ‘Iggu! Have you been waiting long?’

  ‘I’ve only just arrived,’ she says and kisses me. ‘Were you sleeping?’

  ‘No, I just took a bath.’

  I quickly come up with an excuse because I’m not wearing much. She takes off her jacket and opens my bathrobe.

  ‘Knock knock,’ she says.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Ivana,’ she says, letting my bathrobe fall.

  ‘Ivana who?’

  My stomach tickles.

  ‘Ivana fuck you.’

  She looks at my naked body and begins to kiss me. I take off her clothes and throw her on the bed. I switch off my thoughts and try to focus only on my want for her. I feel turned on as I lie on top of her. But then she grabs my shoulders and turns me onto my back. Silently, I turn over and get on top of her again. I start touching her. But she doesn’t give up. I see her hands come closer and I panic. I try to keep still, concentrate on sensation and not what it means. But my body can’t cope with it, and I jerk away. I take my fingers out of her. Before her hand gets too close, I back away; I see that she is hurt, and I immediately recoil from her. She becomes embarrassed and lies still and I have no idea what to do.

  ‘Sara …’

  ‘Why?’ she whispers.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answer.

  ‘IVINNGUAQ! WHY?’ she shouts, which surprises me.

  ‘I DON’T KNOW!’ I shout back, hiding my face.

  ‘Do you like women at all?’ she asks, angrily.

  ‘Why would you ask me that!’

  ‘What have I done?’ she says as she gets up. ‘Am I doing something wrong?’

  ‘NO!’

  ‘Why can’t I touch you? There has to be a reason why!’ I remain silent because I have no answer. I don’t know. ‘Do you find me repulsive?’ she asks.

  ‘No, of course not!’

  ‘Why then? IVINNGUAQ. WHY?’ Her face turns red.

  ‘I just don’t like to be touched!’

  I’m frightened when she puts on her clothes. Now, I think, now she’ll leave me.

  ‘Sara, are you leaving?’

  ‘No, I want you to go spend the night with somebody else! I’m not allowed to fuck you!’

  ‘You want me to leave?’

  I can hardly believe what she’s saying.

  ‘Yes. I want to be alone.’

  ‘But I don’t want to be alone,’ I say. ‘I don’t want either of us to leave.’

  ‘Well, then: explain!’ she says. ‘I can’t carry on without an answer.’

  ‘WHY MUST EVERYTHING HAVE AN ANSWER?’ I shout at her.

  She stands in front of me.

  ‘Come back when you have an answer,’ she says, handing me my clothes.

  I can’t stand hurting her and so I put my clothes on. I’m afraid she’ll leave me if I hurt her any more and so I leave for now. I can’t take being abandoned again.

  More questions, questions I can’t answer, and I feel beaten. I’m being abandoned when I can’t give an answer, and I’m scared. I’m afraid that Sara is going to leave me. I can’t answer her questions. I don’t know the answer. Why don’t I want to be touched? Why is it I don’t like it? Those fucking questions will never end and I’m tired of looking for answers. Why questions? Why answers? Why, why? People are asking questions and I’m beginning to question myself again. People are beginning to doubt me again, and I’m doubting myself again. I’ve been walking around town looking for an answer. I’ve found one. I have an explanation for Sara. I’ll say that I have a disease, that I don’t know what my disease is. I’ll say that I need help. I’ll promise that I’ll feel better. I’ve discovered that I’ve got a disease. Yes, it’s a disease. A polluting disease. A destructive disease. An incurable disease. I’m hurting somebody, and it hurts. Yeah, I have a disease. I’m mentally sick.

  ‘Sara, will you listen to me?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  ‘I think I have a disease.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Down there …’

  I don’t know what to say next.

  ‘An STD? How?’ she asks me point blank.

  ‘No, not like that. But I think something’s wrong with me.’

  ‘Does it hurt when I touch you?’

  I don’t know what to say so I nod. I’ve answered the questions. I’m lying but I don’t care. I can’t lose her.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything? You should have just told me,’ she says, putting her arms around me.

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Please make an appointment with your doctor, all right? Then you’ll find out what’s wrong.’

  I nod. I feel relieved because she won’t leave me.

  That afternoon, I go for a long walk in the mountainsides just outside the city. I’m thinking of answers. She’ll say: ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I’ll reply: ‘No idea.’ No. I don’t want her to worry about me. My reply will be that I’ve got a mild condition. ‘What is it?’ she’ll say and try to Google it. My muscles are just too tense; it’s something that often happens when women get stressed and it’ll soon go away. I’m just stressed out. That’s what they said, I’ll say. Then she’ll ask me, ‘What will you do to make it go away?’ I’ll say that I need to touch myself to make myself relax because I think that’s what you’re supposed to do. No. I don’t want to touch myself. I don’t want to be touched. If I don’t have sex for a longish period of time, the problem will simply disappear. This is what I’ll say. I have an explanation. She’ll no longer question it. She’ll no longer be in doubt. But I won’t find an answer to my own question and doubt. Who cares as long as I’m not being abandoned.

  *

  ‘It’s been a month since you went to the doctor’s, and nothing’s happened,’ she says.
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  I don’t say anything.

  ‘Will you make a new appointment?’

  ‘Actually, it seems to have got better over the past few days,’ I say.

  ‘Really?’

  Her beautiful face radiates joy. If I don’t want this person, whom I love the most, to abandon me, I’ll have to accept it. I have to give her what she wants. I’ll have to accept being touched. I must ignore my wretchedness. I decide to do it on Friday. On Friday I’ll say that it no longer hurts. But the weekdays, which normally go by so slowly, are over before I know it, and I’m not really prepared. However, I don’t want to risk the terrible consequences if I put her off again. I can’t imagine not having Sara by my side.

  On Friday, the anxiety hits me hard. I remember that alcohol has a numbing effect so I buy two bottles of wine. I hope the drink will stifle my emotions. I only want to look at her: at what I touch. I just need to stop feeling Sara’s hands. I want to be prepared. I want to be able to tackle my disease. I don’t want to ask questions. I don’t want to be in any doubt. Sara is my baby.

  We’ve polished off the two bottles of wine and as I’m preparing for the inevitable, my prayers are answered.

  ‘Why don’t we pop into town?’ Sara asks.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, we haven’t been out in forever.’

  THANK GOD! My plan has been ruined and I’m enormously relieved. I get to my feet quickly and get ready to leave. In the taxi, I see the apartment shrinking in the distance. As I lose sight of it, I forget the fucking bed. I throw out my fucking tormenting thoughts. We’re in town; we’re among people; we no longer have a place to fuck. I hold my baby’s hand with ease. I move closer to her without worrying. Kiss her uninterruptedly and endlessly.

  ‘Wait a moment, there’s somebody I want to say hello to,’ Sara says.

  She walks towards a person who is with Arnaq, a girl who’s been flirting with me. I look at Sara’s body. But when I see her eyes, what I see frightens me. Sara’s eyes have changed. I sense that I’m about to be abandoned and my survival instinct takes over. I can no longer dodge my fate. Sara is horny. I put my arms around her from behind, spontaneously, and kiss her neck so that she’ll turn back to me. My prize.