Last Night in Nuuk

by Niviaq Korneliussen

  ‘Knock knock,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she asks, slightly confused.

  ‘Who would you like it to be?’ I ask. ‘Let’s go home.’

  The minute we step into our apartment, I tear off her clothes and drag her towards the bedroom. She undresses me. ‘Does it really not hurt any more?’ she asks. ‘No,’ I say. Because I want it over and done with. I touch her first. It’s been such a long time that I forget all the evil for a moment or two. But the evil always pops up again. As she begins to enter me, I try to go along with it. ‘Does it hurt,’ she asks. ‘No,’ I say. It doesn’t hurt my fucking pussy. But my soul is in pain. It’s in distress. It’s being abused. And right there I realise that I’ll never conquer my disease. I resign myself to being abandoned.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say with my back towards her as she tries to fall asleep.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she says, trying to sound happy. ‘You’ll get better.’

  I can hear her pain. I feel sorry for her. Hurting someone hurts much more than being hurt yourself so I put my clothes on and go out because I can’t cope any more.

  ‘I just need a breath of fresh air.’

  I go to my friend’s after-party and when Arnaq tries to get with me once again, I’ve never been less sure of who I am. But I’m beginning to find the answer to the question, and I’m scared. I’m afraid of being abandoned again, and I promise myself that I’ll forget my infidelity and never ever think of it again. I can’t survive being abandoned again, so I’ll lie down next to my baby and resign myself to love. Sara. If Sara is by my side, then I’m happy.

  It won’t be long now. The grapes are on the coffee table next to the freshly baked bread rolls. Check. The instant cocoa is in the mugs, ready for boiling water to be poured over it. Check. The candles are lit. Check. When I press play, a romantic comedy begins. Check. Delete texts. Check. I’ve cleaned our apartment and washed away the hangover smell so that she can come back to a cosy home. I’ve washed the clothes I wore yesterday and aired my jacket outdoors all day. I feel a bit sick but I’m drinking a lot of water and sucking a lozenge so that I can be sure to spoil her and make sure she’s fine. I hear her by the entrance and take a deep breath. I check my mobile for texts. There are none. I’m ready for her to arrive.

  ‘Hi,’ I hear her say.

  ‘Hiii,’ I say from the kitchen.

  I pour the water over the cocoa and walk into the corridor. Kiss her, take her handbag, and kiss her once more.

  ‘Come in,’ I say with a smile and walk back to the living room. But she heads towards the bathroom. I check my mobile once more and put it on silent mode just to be on the safe side. She comes into the living room, sees the table, smiles, and gives me a hug. I massage her back a bit and kiss her cheek.

  ‘Please sit down, and I’ll get things ready,’ I say.

  I stir the cocoa and sit down next to her on the sofa.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  She nods. ‘Thank you for cleaning up.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  I kiss her. She takes a sip of her cocoa and turns to me.

  ‘You okay? Are you hung over?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. I wasn’t that drunk; I’m just a bit tired.’

  ‘Where was the after-party?’

  ‘In that apartment building downtown.’

  ‘Did you have fun?’

  ‘It was fine. But in the end I was so tired that I drank some water and walked home. Besides, I missed you so much.’ I smile.

  ‘You didn’t come home until it was light. You must be exhausted.’

  I don’t want to talk about last night and so I change the subject. ‘Sit down on the floor and I’ll massage your back,’ I say.

  She sits on a pillow on the floor and I fetch some lotion from the bathroom. I return and see that she has taken off her T-shirt. I give her a kiss on top of her head while I massage her shoulders.

  ‘My phone is out of credit. Need to top it up online,’ she says. ‘Let me use your phone.’

  ‘I’ll top it up on my laptop,’ I say quickly.

  ‘That will take ages. It’s much quicker this way. It’ll only take two seconds,’ she says.

  There’s nothing I can do but hand her my mobile. I’ve deleted my texts. I tell myself not to worry. I hold my breath while my mobile is in Sara’s hands.

  ‘Who’s Arnaq?’ she asks, confused.

  I know that I’m about to lose her and I question why I was fucking born. I begin to doubt my entire existence.

  ‘Arnaq who?’ I answer her question with a question to save myself.

  ‘You’ve received a text from Arnaq,’ she says. ‘“Hope I made you feel good last night”, and then a winking emoji.’ Sara reads the message aloud.

  ‘W … what? I don’t know.’

  Don’t know what else to say. She’s standing in front of me.

  ‘What does she mean by that?’ she asks.

  ‘I … I don’t know.’

  ‘Ivinnguaq …’ She smells a rat. ‘Ivinnguaq, did you cheat on me?’

  I can no longer keep it a secret. I can no longer hide.

  ‘Ivinnguaq, have you been with someone else?’ she asks again.

  The only thing that enters my mind is she’s going to leave me.

  ‘H … how could you?’ she asks sadly.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How could you be with somebody else? You won’t even let me touch you.’

  She laughs in disbelief. Then, as she goes silent, I know that now is the time. She will leave me. She is leaving me and I can’t move my body. It’s so awful that my body goes rigid. It hurts so much to hurt her that my soul has left my body. I see her leave. I’ve been abandoned.

  *

  I haven’t been outdoors for almost two weeks and the sunlight hurts my eyes. The dampness of spring is suffocating. The warm breeze blows in my face and the noise is painful to my ears. My soul is tortured because I torture my body. As I see her walking towards me, I can hear my heartbeat. I don’t want to lose her. I feel my pain as she puts her arms around me. I really don’t want to lose her. I feel the suffering I’ve caused her as she looks at me.

  I’m losing her.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say and burst into tears.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she says and wraps her arms around me.

  ‘I love you so much. I really do,’ I weep.

  ‘I know,’ she says soothingly.

  ‘Can you forgive me?’

  ‘Ivik, look at me,’ she says and lets go of me.

  She holds my face in her hands and looks me straight in the eyes.

  ‘Ivik. I’m gay.’

  ‘I know …’

  ‘Please listen to me,’ she says. ‘I’m into women. I’m not into men.’

  I can’t admit what she’s trying to tell me.

  ‘Because I like women, I can’t be with a man,’ she repeats.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ I say, even though I know.

  ‘I can’t be with you.’

  I stare at her.

  ‘I can’t be with you because you’re a man.’

  I’m exposed. She’s revealed the answer to the eternal question. The answer I haven’t said.

  ‘But I don’t want to lose you,’ I say and begin to weep again.

  ‘You won’t lose me. I’m by your side. I’m right here.’

  ‘What do we do now?’ I ask.

  ‘I can’t be your girlfriend,’ she says.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But like I said: I’m by your side. I’ll have your back. I’ll be your friend.’

  ‘Please don’t leave me.’

  ‘I’ll never leave you.’

  The sun brightens my eyes, which have only seen the world in black for a long, long time. I can smell the previously frozen earth melting. The warm breeze sounds like a song. My soul finds solace in my body. Now that my body has finally found the answer, my soul is no longer in doubt.

  I was bo
rn again when I was twenty-three years old. I was born as Ivik.

  WHAT A DAY

  SARA

  04.32

  The spring night comes alive. The blue sky is dawning. The sun’s rays hit the mountaintop of Sermitsiaq and the north-eastern sky is a bright red. The rays move slowly down the mountains, melting the frost on the ground. The night has frozen the earth but as soon as it melts, the cold will dissipate. The last snow thaws, trickling quietly down, and as soon as it disappears, the harsh temperatures of winter are forgotten. The spring night is silent. There’s no wind. The sea is calm and the waves lap at the beach. The warm sun awakens the birds, who have slept through the cold night, and they begin to sing. The reappearance of spring is pure, generating calm. I walk out of my apartment and into the empty streets. I have hardly slept and the cool air chills me. It makes me shiver and I tense my muscles. Soon the sun will warm my skin and I will forget the cold night. As spring comes alive, my body is slowly revived. The stillness gives me the energy to begin the day.

  #calmbeforethestorm

  I breathe in fresh air before I go into the hospital in Nuuk. I drink in the stillness before leaving it behind. The corridors are empty. But I can hear the faint sound of a voice in pain. I take a deep breath and walk in the direction it came from. On the way, I go to the toilet and wash my hands. Once they are clean, I pull myself together and walk in the direction of the sound. I need to be strong. I open the heavy door. Her face is drawn and her body tense. You can see that she is in pain, yet her eyes say something else. The anxiety and joy on her face strike me.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Five centimetres,’ she says with a smile.

  ‘Is that much?’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m only halfway there.’

  ‘What time did it start?’

  ‘I had contractions around ten o’clock last night.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me then?’

  ‘I did when I knew for sure that I was about to give birth. I thought I’d let you sleep a bit longer,’ she says.

  ‘Next time, call me immediately!’

  ‘Next time? There won’t be a next time!’ She groans in sudden pain.

  A contraction hits and I begin awkwardly to massage her back. I’m about to be an aunt.

  #pain #nowayback

  06.14

  As her contractions grow more intense, the bones in my fingers are nearly crushed but all I feel is what my sister is going through. Her face is dark red. Her body is so bloated that I’m sure a needle prick would make her explode. Out of the corner of my eye I see what is trying to come out and I’m shocked. I make an effort not to faint and I try not to imagine that a big head is working its way out of that tiny opening. This just isn’t possible. I don’t know what it looks like.

  Honestly, I really don’t know what it looks like.

  ‘I’m gonna be sick! Bag!’ she says urgently.

  I take an open bag, hanging by the bedside, and hold it to her mouth. I’m relieved that she doesn’t vomit after all. She has another contraction, and I forget the purity of the night. I stiffen because I’m confused and look to the midwife for guidance. She gazes at me in silence and I realise there’s nothing I can do. An infant is about to be born and all we can do is wait. My sister can no longer control her body, which takes over. Her conscious mind disappears as she begins to push and I tighten all my muscles. ‘Breathe in and out. Breathe,’ the midwife says.

  I realise that every time she tells my sister to do so, I’ve been holding my breath as well.

  ‘I can see the head,’ the midwife says.

  My thoughts are buzzing so much that I can no longer keep track. I stop thinking. With my sister’s hand in mine, I move closer to the baby, which is being born. She pushes once more and the head suddenly appears. I see its hair.

  ‘If you push one final time, the baby will be out,’ the midwife says.

  My sister listens only to her body and no longer hears her. She already knows that her child will come out when she makes that last push. She gathers all her strength in preparation. She pushes one final time and I can no longer hear anything. When the child’s shoulders appear, the rest of the body glides out. A transparent fluid follows. Blood splashes. But my eyes only go to the beautiful baby and I’m paralysed. I’m transfixed as the midwife lifts up the newborn, with its head down, and gives its tiny body a gentle thump. I realise that it has not yet cried. It is not breathing. I hold my own breath. I won’t breathe out until the baby begins to breathe. Breathe, I pray. Breathe. Its small arms and legs begin to move. Its groggy face grimaces. A loud cry comes out and I exhale. My body can no longer contain the magnitude of my emotions and I feel tears trickle down my face. The child breathes. I turn to look at my sister. She is disoriented but understands that the child has been born when I smile at her. I kiss her on the forehead. I experience once more the purity of the night.

  ‘Will you cut the umbilical cord?’ the midwife says. I look at my sister for permission. Her smile answers my question. The midwife hands me a sterilised pair of scissors and I sever the child’s link to its mother. I separate them. The child is now a human being. An individual. The midwife lifts the child, puts it on my sister’s chest, covering it with a blanket. Although this is the first time my sister sees her baby, I can tell she feels she has always known the child. I see her tears and begin to sob myself. Nothing can surpass love.

  Only several minutes after the birth, we realise that we don’t know the gender of the child. We haven’t given it any thought. I was too dazed when cutting the umbilical cord, and now the baby is covered with a blanket. Also, it doesn’t really matter what sex the child is, I think. I can see that my sister thinks the same, but the midwife congratulates her on a baby girl.

  ‘A little girl,’ she says.

  ‘A little girl,’ I say.

  A pure child.

  ‘Would you like to hold her?’ she asks.

  She sees me hesitate, looks at me questioningly.

  ‘It’s not difficult. You just sit down on a chair and hold her like this,’ she says.

  ‘That’s not it. My hands are dirty.’

  The child’s purity is immensely valuable to me. I don’t want to dirty it with my hands.

  ‘Then go and wash them,’ she says, chuckling.

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ I whisper.

  Dirty hands shouldn’t touch. A polluted soul shouldn’t pollute others. A black heart shouldn’t love.

  #pureheartandblackheart #dontgotogether

  08.26

  I walk out of the hospital and forget the cold night. The sun shines bright. The town is alive. The streets, which were empty before I went inside, are now filled with people, all rushing somewhere. I stroll to the shops and greet everybody I pass. Most of them see my smile and can’t help reciprocating, and I ignore those that don’t. I want to be blind to all negativity. I won’t see it. My stomach rumbles and I realise I’m hungry and walk to the co-op’s café. Who cares that it’s morning, I buy a French hotdog. Through the plate-glass windows, I gaze at people who are just waking up from their night’s sleep. There is too much sauce on my hotdog and I get some of it on my fingers but I don’t care. Today I can eat anything. I squeeze out some of the excess ketchup onto my plate and take a gulp of the coffee. It tastes watery and I doubt it’s even coffee, but I don’t give a fuck. Today, I can drink anything. I’ve finished eating, but I sit and watch the people walking past. Off and on, I find myself daydreaming and hope that the woman I’m thinking of will suddenly appear in the crowd. But I know this won’t happen, so I don’t let myself hope for too long, but it’s okay. Today, I can accept it. I buy something to drink and decide to go home and rest my tired body. I get into a taxi with a driver I’ve never seen before. Taxi drivers are all different. Some don’t speak; some break the ice by talking about the weather; others tell a little story. But my taxi driver today seems like a real chatterbox.

  ‘Isn’t it a gorgeous day?’ he says fo
r a start.

  I could have chosen not to answer but decide to give him the chance to talk. I’m pretty sure that he’ll talk non-stop all the way but I don’t give a fuck. Today, I don’t mind listening. And so he begins chatting away, telling me his story … and it goes like this …

  ‘I’m really looking forward to getting off work. Work is tough when you know you’ll be slammed. I think there’s something going around because I feel like I’m catching a cold. I never have trouble getting up in the mornings but this morning I really did, and guess what? Now I’ve got a headache. It’s incredible. I nearly decided to stay at home but my work is very important to me so I took a painkiller instead. You see: I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not at work. I was at sea for ten years, from my teens, and I was hardly ever ashore. I began to work as a fireman after I got married, which would have been thirty years next year if I’d stayed in that job. Thirty long years. How often do you think I went on holiday in all those years? Three times! Three times in thirty years! I just don’t know how to be on holiday. I’m not sorry to be taking more time off now. You see, my mum’s getting old and I spend my free time with her. I’ll be okay when she passes away because I’ve lost so many people since I was a child that I’m used to it. That’s life, isn’t it … She’s a bit senile, which is kind of funny. You see, when you get older, you start to forget things.

  ‘My ex is having me over for dinner this evening because our daughter is in Nuuk so we’ll all eat together. And I almost forgot. My daughter went to boarding school in Denmark from the ages of fourteen to seventeen and now she has a job and hardly ever comes to town. But I’ve learned how to Skype so I still sometimes see her that way. I’m not really into these modern gadgets because we grew up in hard times and had to make do with very little. It was a simple time. So I’m not bothered about all these modern devices. My daughter is the opposite: she always wants something new, but that’s okay. If she’s broke, I always give her money. You see: I’m so generous that it gets a bit silly sometimes … Here we are, that’ll be 97 kroner.’