Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - The Day Is Dark

Matthew didn’t seem amused by this story and Thóra had to suppress a giggle when she saw his expression. ‘They must have learned from the experience and started writing everything down,’ she said brightly, smiling at Eyjólfur. She looked back at Matthew. ‘Don’t you think?’

Matthew’s expression was unchanged, except that he was a tiny bit paler. ‘Undoubtedly,’ he said. ‘I’ll still get in touch with them after we’ve arrived and remind them of it, just in case.’

Thóra did not ask about the telephone connection at the camp, which was not necessarily in working order. All would be revealed soon. Matthew had actually told her that there was no GSM connection at the work site, and the same appeared to apply to this isolated settlement. But of course they could always call from one of the villagers’ phones if necessary. If in fact there were any villagers – there was no one out and about.

‘Shouldn’t we get going?’ called Matthew to the group. It was starting to grow dark. The hangar where Berg Technology’s cars were supposed to be was a short distance away, and the path there led along the edge of the village. ‘If it turns out we have no means of transportation, it’s better that we give ourselves enough time.’ The group set out immediately, except for Bella, who eked out her long-awaited cigarette as long as she could. The only sound apart from the high-pitched creaking of the snow beneath the shoes of the expedition members was the panting of the secretary as she tried to catch up with the rest of them.

For the final stretch they walked past the unfenced back lot of a house where numerous huskies were curled up asleep. The dogs were chained to posts that had been driven into the ground here and there throughout the yard. They jerked awake from their peaceful dozing as the group approached. Asleep, they looked quite adorable, but awake they were rather frightening; they immediately rose to their feet and bared their gleaming white teeth. The hairs on their shoulders rose, as did a stripe down their spines. Several of them leaped forward, growling, as far as their chains permitted, jerking the wooden posts. The red-haired geologist Friðrikka whimpered and reddened. ‘I hate those dogs,’ she muttered, quickening her pace. None of the others spoke, but most of them sped up too, until the menacing barking of the dogs was behind them. Thóra turned around once they’d travelled a safe distance and saw that now the dogs had started to threaten each other, although their chains held them back. There was no sign of human activity. Either no one lived in the blue-painted house or the people there were used to the dogs raising a ruckus now and then.

Dr Finnbogi walked alongside Thóra the final metres to the large, corrugated-iron hangar. The rusty iron creaked in the breeze, which seemed to be picking up. ‘What do we do if the cars aren’t here? I don’t get the feeling that the villagers are overjoyed about our being here.’

‘If they haven’t been stolen, then they’re here,’ said Thóra, watching Friðrikka and Matthew bending over a large combination lock on the hangar door. ‘At least that’s what the contractor says.’ She looked back at the little crowd of houses. ‘I doubt anyone would steal a car around here. It would take the police half an hour at most to find him.’

‘There are no police here!’ exclaimed Friðrikka. Between them, she and Matthew had managed to open the lock. ‘The nearest police station is in Angmagssalik. It takes more than car theft to get them on a helicopter this far north.’

Bella lit a fresh cigarette. ‘Like what?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, murder, maybe,’ replied the geologist drily. ‘You shouldn’t imagine that things here are like what you’re used to. Far from it. If you get lost, no one will search for you. If you fall into the sea, no one will fish you out. Here you’re not much better off than an animal.’ Friðrikka pursed her lips and said nothing more.

The others in the group smiled uncomfortably and tried in vain to think of something clever to say in response. Matthew – who wasn’t yet fluent enough in Icelandic to fully understand his fellow traveller’s statement – had continued trying to open the door, but ice around the catch was making his task difficult. He broke the embarrassed silence. ‘Well,’ he said contentedly, pulling forcefully at the door. The hinges creaked loudly and the door swung out towards the group.

Inside were two white raised pickup trucks and only Thóra knew Matthew well enough to read on his face how happy he was. In addition, there was one well-equipped Ford Econoline, which Eyjólfur told them belonged to the Greenland authorities so that the police or others on public business would have a vehicle available whenever it was needed. ‘Who wants to drive?’

Thóra stared out of the window as they drove through the village, in the hope of seeing anyone out and about. She was troubled and could not avoid the thought that perhaps a dangerous epidemic or food poisoning had swept over the area and killed the villagers and employees of Berg Technology. Suddenly two little girls appeared, walking between the houses. They stopped abruptly when they saw the cars and fixed their dark eyes on them. They looked to Thóra to be a bit younger than Sóley, perhaps five and six years old. Yet it was difficult to be sure, since they were dressed warmly in thick hooded coats and windproof trousers that were tucked into snow boots. Their blue-black hair splayed out from beneath their hats and blew in the wind. Thóra waved to them and smiled her warmest smile but the girls stood stock-still and watched her dispassionately. The taller one grabbed her companion’s mittened hand. If there had been an epidemic, it appeared that at least some of them had escaped. A third girl was sitting on a landing at the top of the stairs in front of a house at the end of the village, and down at the harbour were two adults. Thóra turned in her seat to get a better view of the girls, but they had disappeared. ‘Should we try talking to the people here?’ she asked. ‘I saw a couple of them down at the harbour.’

‘No, let’s keep going,’ said Matthew. ‘We can come back down here tomorrow if we want. Hopefully all this will be explained when we get to the work camp, and then talking to the villagers will be unnecessary. They want to be left in peace, so it wouldn’t pay to trouble them unnecessarily.’

Thóra looked around again. Just as she’d suspected, she would find no souvenir shop here. ‘How far is it?’ she asked. As if her hangover weren’t enough, now the muscles in her bottom were killing her after a day in transit, due mainly to the helicopter seat. The helicopter’s manufacturer had saved its pennies on more than just the number of propeller blades.

‘It’s not too far,’ replied the unlovely Alvar, who was driving. ‘According to the GPS, we’ve got only ten kilometres to go.’ Twenty minutes later the work camp appeared. The low, dark green buildings were difficult to see in the encroaching darkness. The car plodded at a snail’s pace over one more snowdrift, and while they waited they regarded the buildings.

‘Shouldn’t there be lights on if anyone is here?’ asked Eyjólfur. ‘That’s how it was every time I came here. I don’t recall ever seeing the camp so dark.’

No one said anything, but clearly they had all been thinking the same thing. Not a single light was lit in the camp.

There is something about abandoned places; something unpleasant but difficult to put your finger on. In an abstract way, it was clear to everyone that those who had vanished from there would not be coming back. Several times Thóra had visited the home of a deceased person to take care of the division of their estate, and had experienced this same discomfort. Perhaps it was the ornaments that would never again be admired, or the open newspaper on the table that no one would finish reading. Although the camps held neither ornaments nor newspapers, Thóra was gripped by the same feeling; they were empty of people but full of signs of human activity. Above all, it reminded Thóra of a documentary on Chernobyl that she had seen several years ago, which gave a good view of how it looked when an entire town’s population has to abandon its homes and workplaces without warning. The difference was in the people. In Chernobyl, the residents had fled from something. Here it looked as though the earth had swallowed the two employees.