Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - The Day Is Dark

Nothing happened. After a moment Matthew knocked harder, using his fist. The orange skis propped against the outside wall shook at the blows. After a moment they heard footsteps inside. They approached, then fell silent. Shortly afterwards they heard a man’s voice say something that neither of them understood. Thóra called out ‘Hello,’ in return. Nothing was heard from within, but the doorknob moved and the door opened enough for the man inside to see them. They caught a glimpse of half his face. ‘What?’ he said gruffly in Danish.

‘Is the lady at home?’ Thóra ignored how clumsy this sounded. She should have put more work into learning Danish at school.

‘The lady?’ The Greenlander did not open the door any wider. ‘What lady?’

This is when it would have been useful to know the woman’s name, thought Thóra.

‘Usinna,’ she tried.

The man’s reaction caught Thóra and Matthew completely off-guard.

Thóra half expected the sofa to break beneath hers and Matthew’s combined weight. That would have been the icing on the cake as far as their visit was concerned; Thóra still hadn’t regained her composure at the reception they’d been given. The man had completely lost it when he heard the name “Usinna” and had shouted himself hoarse. The only thing that seemed to prevent him from lashing out at her with his fists was Matthew standing next to her. Although the man appeared to be in decent shape, he was a head shorter than the German. Instead he vented his anger on the door and doorframe and continued pouring abuse over them. Naturally, Thóra did not understand any of what he said, but it was clear that he was calling them some rather unpleasant names and was not overjoyed at their arrival. He turned several times to shout back into the house, probably to share his joy with the poor woman living there. In the end Matthew had enough, and he shouted back, ordering the Greenlander to shut his mouth for a moment. In German. At that the man abruptly shut up and stormed back in. He left the door open and although Thóra wanted more than anything to run to the car, she forced herself to peek in through the doorway and ask courteously whether they could make a phone call. No reply. Thóra tried calling the name Usinna, which she now believed to be the name of the woman there, and in a flash the young woman came running to the door. She waved her hands to silence Thóra and her worried look convinced Thóra not to dare say anything else.

The woman’s face was swollen and blood oozed from the corner of her mouth. Her lower lip was twice as large as when they had last met and when she got to the door she cradled one of her upper arms in the other hand. She was wearing faded old sweatpants and a tatty polyester jumper, so well-worn that the pattern was nearly gone. When Thóra repeated her request to be allowed to make a phone call the woman refused to let them in and said it was a bad time. However, barely had she uttered the words before a door could be heard slamming somewhere in the house. At that the woman’s attitude changed abruptly and she invited them in. She explained that her housemate had left by the back door, so they could call if they did it quickly. She then showed them into the sitting room, where they took seats on the shabby sofa. There was a phone on a little side-table next to it.

‘What happened to you?’ Thóra asked the woman, who sat opposite her on a plastic folding chair. This had also seen better days. ‘Did that man hurt you?’

‘It just happens. I’ll get over it.’ The woman pressed her bare toes into the fur of the polar bear pelt on the floor in front of her.

‘What is your name, can I ask?’ Thóra had left it to Matthew to try to reach the police. They would certainly speak English, and he could not hold a conversation with the woman in Danish.

‘Oqqapia.’ The woman released her grip on her injured arm and straightened up. It was as if she suddenly realized what an abject picture she presented and wanted to put on a better face.

Thóra introduced herself and Matthew and thanked her again for letting them in. ‘I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t helped us. We’ve brought money to pay you for your assistance.’

‘No thank you.’ The woman seemed serious. ‘I don’t want the money. It just makes matters worse.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Thóra didn’t know what she could offer the woman instead and felt slightly embarrassed. She decided to start with something harmless and asked the woman about the little girl she’d seen outside on the snowmobile.

‘She’s special.’ Oqqapia rubbed her hands together and appeared very nervous about their presence in her sitting room. ‘She was injured, which is why she looks that way. She adores that snowmobile and her father always has to take her with him if he goes somewhere on it. Still, she’s an incredibly good girl even though she’s mutilated, the poor little thing.’ She said the last bit with enormous affection and appeared to be regaining her composure.

Thóra seized the opportunity and changed the subject.

‘What does Usinna mean? Isn’t it a name?’ Judging by the reaction of the house’s inhabitants it was most likely a profanity or some sort of term of abuse. Perhaps Oddný Hildur had written it in her notebook to remind herself never to say it.

Oqqapia looked over her shoulder once more as if she expected the man to sneak up behind her. ‘It is a name. A woman’s name.’

Thóra had at least been right about that. ‘Why was the man who came to the door so angry when I used it? I thought it might have been your name.’

The pink tip of the woman’s tongue appeared at the bloody corner of her mouth and she ran it over her swollen lip. ‘You shouldn’t have mentioned her by name. Naruana is very sensitive about her and besides that he was already angry. You’ve come at the worst possible time.’

‘Is this Naruana your husband?’ Thóra hoped that he wasn’t. ‘He looks to me like a rather unsuitable life partner,’ she added hesitantly.

The woman smiled flatly, just enough for the light to catch her white front teeth. Between them were dark streaks of blood. ‘We’re not married. He just lives here.’ She thrust out her jaw and moved it from side to side as if to check whether it was broken at all. ‘He doesn’t usually act like that. As I said, you two came at a bad time.’ Thóra decided not to make any objection to this. She knew neither this woman nor her circumstances and would most likely never see her again. Who was she to think she could judge her and give her advice? Did she intend to give her a helping hand if she needed one? No, she was an adult and it was unnecessary for Thóra to point out to her that this was perhaps not the most desirable relationship in the world. ‘You might consider getting away from him,’ was all she said before changing the subject. ‘Why does the name Usinna make him so upset?’

The woman was silent for a moment as she stared awkwardly into Thóra’s eyes. Then she began to speak, rather determinedly, although her voice trembled slightly. ‘His sister was named Usinna. She died several years ago and he took it very badly.’

‘I understand.’ What on earth was the name of the dead woman doing in Oddný Hildur’s notebook? Out of the corner of her eye Thóra watched Matthew try for the fourth time to dial what he thought was the phone number of the police. He still hadn’t managed to reach anyone. ‘When did she die?’

‘It was almost five years ago.’

‘And he still hasn’t come to terms with it?’ Thóra found this rather odd. She didn’t know any siblings who were so close that one would take years and years to get over the death of the other. ‘Did she die very young?’ There was no way to determine the age of the man who had met them at the door. He could be anywhere from twenty-five to fifty. ‘No, she was older than him. She died when she was twenty-something. Almost thirty.’