Chapter 22

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Maratse woke to the sound of Petra coming down the stairs. He lifted his head as she walked into the living room, stopping in the doorway to wave.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

“Iiji.”

“Much pain?”

He nodded and lowered his head, as Petra walked into the kitchen. He listened as she boiled water for coffee, and tutted at the lack of food in the fridge, and the empty cupboards.

“I’m going shopping,” she said, putting a mug of coffee on the table next to Maratse. “See if you can get dressed.”

Maratse nodded, waiting until she had left before he propped himself up on the sofa and reached for the mug. He grimaced at the pain in his legs, and then shrugged. He had to live with it, he reasoned, but it didn’t have to define him, or determine what he did and didn’t do with his life. Maratse’s temporary reinstatement in the police had expired as soon as the Commissioner was briefed on the status of the operation. Maratse contemplated his second retirement in as many weeks, as he sipped his coffee, and listened to the puppy scratching at the deck outside the house. It tumbled up and down the length of the deck as Petra returned with bacon, eggs, and bread.

“He’s so cute,” Petra said, pausing for a moment to talk to the puppy. She knocked the snow from her boots, kicking them off and walking through to the lounge.

“He’s a she.”

“And does she have a name yet?”

“Eeqqi,” Maratse said. “I’m working on it.”

Maratse dressed, as Petra made breakfast. He looked out of the window as Karl and Edvard walked down to the dock to meet the hotel boat as it bumped against the jetty. Nivi Winther stepped off the boat, together with Simonsen and Danielsen from Uummannaq.

“Is that them?” Petra called from the kitchen.

“Iiji.”

“And what time is the press conference?”

“In an hour.”

“Okay,” Petra said, as she put two plates with bacon sandwiches on the table. She beckoned for Maratse to come and eat, waited until he sat down, and then said, “I’m curious as to why she is holding it here, not in Nuuk.”

The same thought had kept Maratse awake for the first part of the night, until the painkillers had kicked in. He had given the dark nature of his dreams a name, called it trauma, and set it to one side. Releasing a statement about her daughter’s killer beside her grave, he imagined, must be Nivi Winther’s way of working through her trauma. Although, he did wonder if she had other plans, a different agenda. She was a strong woman, all the stronger for bouncing back from the death of her daughter, and her own abduction.

“You’re far away again,” Petra said, when she was finished with her sandwich. She sipped her coffee and watched Maratse eat.

“This is good.”

“I know,” she said.

They both looked up at the sound of a plane passing overhead to land at the gravel strip in Qaarsut. It coincided with the departure of the hotel boat, and Maratse wondered again if Nivi was planning something.

“Gaba called when I was in the store,” Petra said. “He wanted me to say hi.”

“Hmm,” Maratse said. “How is Miki?”

“He’s fine. Filling in forms and being interviewed in Nuuk. It’s the first time for him, killing a man, but the union has his back, and there were plenty of witnesses.”

“Good.” Maratse finished his breakfast. He looked out of the window as Karl, Edvard, and the policemen followed Nivi up the path to the graveyard. “I’ll need longer today,” he said, “to walk up the mountain.”

“Sure,” Petra said. “Do you want to go now?”

“Iiji,” Maratse said, and stood up. He walked to the door, pulled on his jacket, and stuffed his feet into his boots.

The puppy lifted its head as Maratse and Petra walked out of the house. Maratse growled at it, and Petra laughed as the puppy danced back to where it was lying at the end of the deck.

“You have a way with dogs, eh?”

“She’s a good dog,” Maratse said.

“One that needs a name. You can’t call it she or it for the rest of its life.”

“Why not?”

“You just can’t,” Petra said and walked down the steps. She waited for Maratse on the beach, scuffing the snow to one side to reveal the black sand and shells beneath. They walked towards the path, and started to climb the mountainside.

When they reached the top, Maratse stopped to light a cigarette. He nodded at Nivi as she stood beside the grave of her daughter. Petra tugged his elbow and pointed at the hotel boat on its way back from the airport. The boat was stuffed with passengers.

“So,” she said, “any ideas?”

“None,” Maratse said, and rolled the cigarette into the gap between his teeth. He smoked for a minute more, snubbed the half-finished cigarette between his finger and thumb, and pushed it back into the packet. He spotted a flash of white fur bounding up the path, and growled at the puppy to stay put. He turned his back on it, and walked with Petra to the entrance to the graveyard. When he looked back at the puppy, it was sitting up straight by the side of the path, its head flicking back and forth between the guests arriving for the funeral. Maratse noticed that most of them carried cameras of various sizes, one of which was a digital video camera.

“The press,” he said, and nudged Petra. The photographers moved to one side to take photographs of the last people in the group.

“That’s Malik Uutaaq, and his family,” Petra said. “What is she planning?”

Malik glanced at Petra and Maratse as he walked past them. He held his wife’s hand on one side, and his daughter on the other. Sipu, his son, played with the puppy, until his father stopped and called for him.

Qitu Kalia separated himself from the photographers and journalists to shake Maratse’s hand, before rejoining the group that Nivi Winther had assembled in the snow beside five open graves. She stood beside her daughter’s grave. The loose sheets of her notes flapped in the wind.

“You’re all wondering,” she said in Greenlandic, her voice crisp and clear like the air, “why I have you invited you here. The simple answer is, I want my daughter to hear what I have to say.” Cameras started to click, and she held up her hand for them to wait. The film crew kept rolling, and Maratse realised she must have asked for that. “Daniel Tukku was my colleague, he was my friend, and he was also the man who murdered my daughter.” Nivi paused to wipe a tear from her cheek. “She is safe now, but her death and suffering make me think of all the people suffering in Greenland, even people like Daniel Tukku. He was Greenlandic, just like my Tinka was.” Nivi waited for the journalists and photographers to finish taking notes and pictures. “When I visit my daughter, to talk to her about the whales in the fjord, and to imagine the life she might have led, I will also tell her about Greenland and the Greenlandic people. As First Minister of Greenland I have a responsibility to care for all Greenlanders, we all do. But, as First Minister, I failed in my duty to give Daniel the help he needed. I will be reminded of that every time I visit Tinka.”

Nivi looked over her shoulder, as if to take strength from the power of the ice in the fjord, to draw on winter’s strengths, so that she need not dwell on its hardships. She looked back, and caught Maratse’s eye, smiling as she continued with her speech.

“Tinka is safe, but how safe do we feel? How safe are we as a nation, as a people, as Greenlanders?” Nivi beckoned for Malik to come and stand beside her. She embraced him as he walked up to her, and took his hand as he turned to face his family, and the press, and the people of Greenland. “I asked Malik Uutaaq to join me here on this difficult day, because when one has experienced the darkest side of human nature, the darkest side of Greenland, it is important to reach out and embrace all that is good about Greenland, and to go forwards into the dark of winter, with a new heart, a new focus, and a new leadership. Which is why, I am pleased to say, Malik Uutaaq and I have agreed to work together to bring our people together, and to embrace a new Greenland for all Greenlanders.” Nivi paused at a renewed frenzy of cameras clicking. “So when you vote in May next year, we can promise you an exciting election, and furthermore, we can promise a stable, political vision, built on trust and common ground embracing the true Greenlandic identity for all Greenlanders.”

Maratse felt Petra take his hand, as Nivi repeated her speech in Danish. “Piitalaat,” he said, as he felt her tremble. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I am now.”

The press stayed as Nivi rearranged the flowers on her daughter’s grave. Maratse didn’t know if the camera caught the look in her eye, but he saw a spark of hope between the tears.

Petra held Maratse’s hand long after the last journalist had followed Nivi and Malik down the mountain path and back to the hotel boat. He imagined that there would be a question and answer session at the hotel in Uummannaq, and was pleased that the press, politicians and policemen were leaving. He tugged at Petra’s hand and they walked over to Tinka Winther’s grave. Karl and Edvard joined them.

“Five graves left,” Karl said, as he lit a cigarette. Maratse lit his own and Petra stepped to one side to admire the view and avoid the smoke. She walked back to Maratse as Karl and Edvard finished their cigarettes and walked down the path to Inussuk.

“So,” she said, “what are you going to do now?”

“Retire,” he said, and shrugged.

“You’ve tried that already.”

“Iiji.”

“Perhaps you should try a new approach?”

Petra smiled as the puppy bounded into the graveyard and sat at the foot of Tinka’s grave.

“You said it was a she?” Petra said.

“It is.”

“And she needs a name.” Petra nodded at the puppy. “Tinka. How about that?”

Maratse looked at the puppy as it flicked its head between him and Petra. He took a breath and gritted his teeth as he bent down onto his knees. The puppy looked at him, watched him, and then bounded across the snow into his lap when Maratse clicked his tongue.

“A few more, and you’ve got a team,” Petra said.

“Karl’s son has more dogs he wants to get rid of,” Maratse said, “and a boat he wants to sell.”

Petra looked out at the fjord, took a deep breath, and nodded. “So, you’ve decided then, you’re going to be a hunter.”

“Hunting and fishing,” Maratse said. He curled the puppy’s ears between his fingers and thumbs. “Or maybe just sledging.”

“I’d like to try that,” Petra said.

“Come back in spring. My team will be ready.”

“You won’t come back to Nuuk?”

Maratse let go of the puppy and looked at Petra. He could feel the puppy’s claws on his thighs, and the needle-like points of its milk teeth as it nibbled at his fingers.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re sure?”

“Iiji,” he said. “This is where I belong.”