Praise for Last Night in Nuuk
“Last Night in Nuuk combines the wit and brio of Conversations with Friends with the woozy cinematic hedonism of the Terrence-Malickesque Polish slacker film All Those Sleepless Nights to create a raw and riveting narrative that explores and ultimately celebrates queerness and Greenlandic youth culture. Effortlessly cool, funny yet sad, breezy but thoughtful—this is an edgy and unputdownable work of modern literature.”
—Sharlene Teo, author of Ponti
“Last Night in Nuuk is ferocious, inventive, and unlike anything I’ve read in a long time. As the actions of the characters intertwine and impact on each other, it is both a raw and bold portrayal of young queer Greenlandic life and a study into the repercussions of finding yourself in a place where everybody knows everybody else.”
—Sophie Mackintosh, author of The Water Cure
“I have not read something like this written by such a young person in this way, ever … [Last Night in Nuuk] has created its own genre [of] unfiltered sexual realism.”
—Politiken (Denmark)
“A wonderful debut novel about love and about standing out in Greenland. The book is both formalistically and linguistically exciting—and there are many moving scenes.”
—Kristianstadsbladet (Norway)
“This is a wonderful mix of banging punchlines and poetry—it is well written and vibrant.”
—Litteratursiden (Denmark)
Niviaq Korneliussen
Translated by Anna Halager
Copyright © 2014 by Niviaq Korneliussen
Translation copyright © 2018 by Anna Halager
Cover design by Becca Fox Design
Cover photograph © Lauren Flynn/Images
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading, and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of such without the permission of the publisher is prohibited. Please purchase onlyauthorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Any member of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or anthology, should send inquiries to Grove Atlantic, 154 West 14th Street, NewYork, NY 10011 or [email protected].
First published in Greenland in 2014 by Milik Publishing
First published in Great Britain in 2018 as Crimson by Virago Press
Published simultaneously in Canada
Printed in the United States of America
First Grove Atlantic paperback edition: January 2019
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is available for this title.
ISBN 978-0-8021-2877-5
eISBN 978-0-8021-4674-8
Black Cat
an imprint of Grove Atlantic
154 West 14th Street
New York, NY 10011
Distributed by Publishers Group West
groveatlantic.com
19 20 21 22 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Qaaqa (‘big sister’)
All I can say is thank you
Simply for being my sister
Simply for enriching my world to the fullest
Simply for being you
Your world is mine
My world is yours
Nuka (‘little sister’)
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Cast of characters
Fia
Inuk
Arnaq
Ivik
Sara
Glossary
Back Cover
Cast of Characters
Fia
Fia is Inuk’s sister and Arnaq’s short-term flat mate. She is in a relationship with Peter and studies at the university.
Inuk
Means ‘human’/’man’ as in ‘mankind’ in Greenlandic, but is also commonly used as a name for men (sometimes also for women).
Inuk works as a journalist in Nuuk. He is Fia’s brother and Arnaq’s best friend.
Arnaq
Means ‘woman’ in Greenlandic, but is also commonly used as a name.
Arnaq is Inuk’s best friend, and also works as a journalist until she gets fired.
Ivik
Ivik is a Greenlandic name that means ‘a blade of grass’, and is commonly used for men, but with the diminutive suffix ‘-nnguaq’ it means ‘dear little Ivik’ and becomes a commonly used name for women.
Ivik is Sara’s partner.
Sara
Sara is in a relationship with Ivik.
CRIMSON & CLOVER
FIA
Our plans:
1. When I’ve finished my education and have the money, we’ll buy a house with lots of rooms and a balcony.
2. We’ll get married.
3. We’ll have three or four kids.
4. Every day, we’ll go shopping after work and drive home in our car.
5. We’ll get old and die.
Peter. One man. Three years. Thousands of plans. Millions of dinner invitations. Vacuuming, dishwashing and cleaning, rushing on forever towards infinity. False smiles turning uglier. Dry kisses stiffening like desiccated fish. Bad sex should be avoided at all costs. My faked orgasms get harder to believe as time goes by. But we’re still making plans.
The days become darker. The void in me expands. My love no longer has a taste. My youth’s turning old. What keeps me alive is dying. My life has become worn, aged. Life? What life? My heart? It’s a machine.
‘What’re we having for supper?’
Sticky pig’s tails, which reminds me of what you have in your pants, is what I want to reply.
‘What are you doing when you’re off work?’
What would you do if I didn’t answer? I want to ask him.
‘Do you want to stay in and watch a film with me this evening?’
For fuck’s sake, when was the last time you were exciting? I want to say to him.
Would you completely grind to a halt if I never came back again? Would you weep? Would your life be over? Would your life begin? Come on, what would you do? ‘Do you love me?’ you ask. I love your love, but no, I don’t love you. Sorry, but that’s life. Is life supposed to be like this? Is this all love can offer? If it is, well then I simply don’t understand it.
Have I made a mistake?
Fuck, fuck.
‘I’ll fry some steaks.’
‘I’ll find you in town when you get off work.’
‘You bet.’
‘Yes, I love you.’
Shit.
Plan:
Live together.
Walk over to the co-op in sleet when I’m off work. Fried steak, soda water and fruit, oh, did you remember our membership card, back home in a stinking bus filled with people who smile and greet you, iggu, baby, you’re ever so sweet, he says, my lips smile, my brain’s about to explode; another part of my mind says stop smiling, you ugly son of a bitch; can’t stop thinking that I’m looking forward to going to bed this evening, disappearing into another world, waking up to the same shitty day tomorrow, hope he won’t try to have sex with me, but I think it’s likely, what reason should I come up with, let’s go out, ouch, I’ve had a headache since this morning, feel like going to bed early this evening, iggu, I’ll take care of you, put my arms around you, fucking hope he’ll have something to do and want to go to bed late, wish he would at least play a video game but no, he’s a gentleman, wish that some
other woman had him, but no, he doesn’t even look when a girl with a great ass passes by, that gentleman, fucking gentleman, iggu, you seem tired, were you busy today, you needn’t begin all your sentences with iggu, yeah, been ever so busy; a true man that I will have to spend the rest of my life with, a man who chooses to take care of me instead of looking at a great ass, wish he’d look at an ass which isn’t mine, iggu, don’t worry, I’ll make some food for you, I knew he’d say that, I can make my own food, you can hang out with your friends, isn’t there football on, iggu, no, I’ll take care of you when you’re under the weather, I give up and nod, I’m already tired of him after forty-five minutes, need to be alone and light a cig before going indoors, iggu, smoking kills, is he joking, ha ha ha, how funny, kill me already, it’s best if you suck in, smoke the cig until it’s completely finished, he thinks that smoke smells so I don’t wash my hands and ignore my bad breath, a gentleman who never grumbles, iggu, get some rest, life would be a bit more exciting if only he’d grumble a bit more, I walk over to him, kiss me, he kisses me and gives me a hug, iggu, I hope you’ll feel better, I give up and go into my room, log on to Facebook, would like to tag Peter and write: does anyone want this man who never grumbles and never glances at anybody else, I’m tired of my life, my back hurts because I always sit hunched over, he loves me so much that I want something evil to take possession of my body so that I can knife him, four years in prison, rehabilitation, a new life, maybe a more exciting life, and my boyfriend, future husband, love him till death do us part, iggu, the food’s just about ready, iggu iggu iggu …
You better run for your fucking life or maybe I’ll knife myself, a gravestone with my name on it, date of birth, date of death; you were already so dead that you might as well die young; I’d be remembered as that woman who represents everything that’s evil, mothers would tell their children not to follow in her footsteps, and I’d be useful that way, fuck yes, I would, I’d laugh from down below and tell myself that you fucking well deserve it, you triggered it because of your self-pity and say iggu, iggu, iggu to myself, tormenting my buried body so that I can teach myself a lesson, iggu, come, dinner’s ready, the devil’s brought me back to earth, punishing me before my reverie becomes too good, must refrain from laughing, sit down at table, yum it tastes good, iggu, please eat, there’re lots of vitamins in the veggies, I sigh, no longer listening to what he says, merely nodding, he asks me something, didn’t quite catch it, your colleagues what, the sweetest man knows I’m not listening, but tries again: iggu, have you seen Jørgen’s work, no, why, iggu, it’s really inspiring, nod once more, you’re really feeling bad today huh, feel the urge to leave, no, I just need some fresh air, I’ll just go for a walk, iggu, yes, sounds like a good idea, I’ll come with you, I could do with a breath of fresh air myself, crap, instant regret, iggu, put some warm clothes on, I’m not a baby I want to say, stop talking to me like that, but as he takes my hand, I take his hand, as he gives me his heart, I hold it, as he sacrifices his heart, I want to ruin it, it’s almost bedtime, having just about survived yet another day, have enough strength, I can manage, I’ll feel much better once I’ve slept, can survive yet another day if I dream of life tonight, maybe there’s new life tomorrow, maybe another life entirely, maybe not, maybe yet another day like today, probably, hope’s pointless, hope’s dead, the gravestone reads: ‘Hope, as you didn’t show, I discovered that you weren’t among us any more’, now we’re almost back home again. Something doesn’t feel right, it has never felt right. Fresh air didn’t do me any good, I’ve gotten wet, not in my pussy but because of rain and sleet, my pussy’s dry, I fucking well hope he won’t try this evening, iggu, what would you like to do when we’re back home, as he winks at me I realise that hope really has passed away, am simply so tired that I go to bed, iggu, don’t worry, I’ll give you a massage, all right then, I brush my teeth and go to bed wide awake, he gives me a massage, feeling a bit better, thanks a lot, my sweetheart, I’m feeling better now, and before I’ve finished my sentence he places himself on top of me, fuck it, something hard touches my body, I love your body so much, I want you, I kiss him, no, I’m really exhausted, how about early tomorrow morning, iggu, okay then, he gives in because he’s a gentleman but now he’s slightly sad, iggu, I love you my darling, I love you but I’m just not in the mood because I’m so tired, he smiles because he’s heard what he wants to hear, iggu, that’s fine, let me put my arms around you till you fall asleep, and he holds me in his arms until I fall asleep, the sweetest man, my thoughts are elsewhere, I wonder how I can live such a life, I’m dead after all, how on earth can I treat the sweetest man so badly, what am I to do, oh well, I’ll just have to try to sleep, after all there are no answers to my questions and yet another day, the very same day is about to dawn, and I must worship this holy night. Hope: you must rest in peace, what a shame that you’ve killed yourself.
Plan:
Dead.
Death has begun to appear in my dreams, and I’m petrified. Murder. Death of the soul. A shrivelled corpse. Suicide. Death has begun to visit me, and I’m petrified. Mass murder. A failed suicide attempt. Envious of the dead. I’ve begun to walk hand in hand with it, and I’m petrified. I make up my mind because death won’t leave my mind. There has always been something missing here.
‘Anybody home?’
‘Hi.’
‘Iggu, sorry I’m late, I’ve been so busy,’ he says.
‘Peter, we need to talk.’
‘Why have you packed your things?’
And then something like: what’s going on, are you okay, are you leaving, what will you do, are you leaving me, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, and I’m like: now listen to me, let’s sit down and talk, I love you, I’m not happy, you’re not happy, something’s missing in my life, although we don’t want for anything, I need to be on my own because we’re not happy, et cetera and then the drama begins: are you not comfortable, why don’t you want to be with me, what have I done, have I hurt you in any way, have I been stupid, and then golden words like: no, I’m tired of being comfortable, you’ve done nothing, I want to take care of myself, want to find myself, me, me, me and never you, it’s not you, it never is you and so on, and the most predictable: have you found somebody else, don’t you love me any more, don’t you love me, don’t you like me, don’t you care for me at all, and then trying not to lose control: you know I love you very much, I do love you very much, but it’s over, there’s nothing to be done, so you must get it into your head, you must accept it, this is my final decision, this is final, basta, are you really leaving me, are you really not coming back to me, are we really splitting up, are you leaving, are you honestly leaving me, and on it goes, yes, yes, yes, are you leaving me, I’m leaving you, will you come back, I won’t be coming back, are you leaving me, yes, I’m leaving you and you know the fucking rest but I’ll tell you anyway.
Got to read his own fucking version of how to understand the five fucking stages of loss, in endless text messages. Couldn’t stop thinking of him, probably because he called every five fucking minutes. Had the fucking privilege of wiping his tears in the middle of the night, five fucking nights, to be exact. It was an honour to hold your heart, but my hands are all bloody, so you’d better take it or I’m gonna have to drop this sticky heart of yours. ‘It’s over’ were my final words.
Then, just like that, I was free.
But the word ‘free’ didn’t bring with it ‘relief’. I was his future, after all.
*
‘Come on, come out with me. It’s been three weeks! Peter’ll be okay!’ Arnaq’s growing tired of me and I’ll have to go to this party at the university. I feel sorry for Peter, sitting at home all by himself, but I risk irritating the person I’m crashing with if I don’t go, so I’m getting ready to join in with the night out.
‘I really hope I don’t bump into Peter,’ I say to Arnaq.
‘Are you coming? Yes! Yes! Yes!’
She begins to dance up against me, jokingly
. I push her gently.
‘It’ll be fun! You won’t regret it,’ she says.
‘Arnaq …’
‘What? I just want to get wasted with you. It’s been a long time!’
‘I’m not drinking.’
‘Come on …’
‘Arnaq.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just come.’
‘Let’s wait and see,’ I say.
‘Honestly, get a life!’
‘Are you trying to say that life’s just about getting wasted and partying?’ I joked.
‘Yes, you’ll see! There’ll be guys – you know?’
She dangles a hairbrush in front of her crotch, pretending it’s a dick.
‘Naamik – no, no way. I’m finished with guys.’
‘There are women, too, if you’re off men …’
‘Arnaq, you’re an idiot. You’re such a perv!’
Arnaq laughs loudly, and I laugh a bit too while I’m getting ready to go. Crazy girl.
When we get to Ilimmarfik, the University of Greenland, I go to the toilet with Arnaq, who wants to check her reflection one last time. I look at her while she’s doing her face.
‘Fuck, you’re ridiculously pale!’ she says, surprised.
‘That’s okay.’
‘Come over here.’
‘Arnaq, it’s okay.’
She walks over to me, puts some blusher on my cheeks although I don’t really want her to.
‘That’s it!’
‘Come on, let’s join them.’
We leave the toilets, walk past the elevator and the sofas and into the room.
‘We’re here!’ shouts Arnaq.
I look like a servant trailing behind Arnaq who is a fucking queen and I only say hello to the people I know. Two of our fellow students are delighted to see us, immediately fetching some chairs and making room for us at the table. I try to sit next to Arnaq because I’m not in the mood to chat with people I don’t know. Arnaq clutches her beer because she hasn’t had a drink for a whole week. I take out my phone to check the time: 21.49. It’s going to be a long night. I open my Coke. And at that very moment, at precisely this point in time, my lungs begin to breathe in air once again.
Last Night in Nuuk Page 1
