Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - The Day Is Dark

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 sensitive about his father, the topic of his sister was even more explosive. He never brought it up unless he was so drunk that he was no longer in control of what he was saying, and then he would usually doze off soon after. Since Oqqapia generally did the same when she drank, she could rarely remember what had come out of his mouth. Yet she did recall some bits and pieces, so strange that she was sure she had misunderstood or misheard him. Some sort of gibberish about marks and ancestors that he couldn’t let down, an awful story about Usinna’s fate that there was no way of confirming. Whether she misremembered or not, it was certainly true that the day after saying those strange things about Usinna Naruana had started talking about children, whether they should maybe just have one kid. He never mentioned this topic otherwise – they weren’t a couple in any formal sense and neither of them was in any condition to raise children. At first she’d been flattered when he brought it up, but when she started to suspect that it was less than sincere she pressed him and discovered that his desire for a child wasn’t connected with her at all. He simply needed offspring and she was the one who happened to be at hand. His sister’s soul required that the family line be maintained and he alone was left to save it. Oqqapia had suffered a lot over the years but this hurt the most. The harsh reality that he couldn’t care less about her. His sister was topmost in his mind, despite the fact that she had died long ago.

‘What did you tell her?’ Naruana remained standing by the closed refrigerator, his back to her. The long, slender muscles of his sinewy shoulders clenched and his breathing slowed.

‘Nothing. I told her that Usinna had died there. Nothing else.’ She wished she hadn’t mentioned it. Perhaps she’d wanted to hurt him for choosing his sister over her. It was an incredibly stupid decision on her part, and hardly likely to change anything. His sister would never have done or said anything so hurtful; she was too perfect for that. For a moment Oqqapia considered pointing out to him that his sister had been too perfect for life in the village and would have been the last person to stick to old traditions if she were alive. If their fates had been reversed, she would never have had children just to guarantee the return of his soul. Usinna had been a few years older than Oqqapia, but she still remembered her quite well. It was impossible to forget her. Her grace and spirit were apparent to everyone. She had gone abroad to study when Oqqapia was a teenager and returned several years later, even more elegant than before, but now the light that seemed to shine from her had an added cosmopolitan aura. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Naruana wanted to ensure her reincarnation.