martinsmithstories

Photo by Hans-Jurgen Mager on Unsplash

There was once a Greenlander called Ignønsøn Nanuq. He was a loner and a transient whose job required him to roam the northernmost reaches of Greenland, but even then he barely managed to eke out a living and survive from day to day. At night, when snuggled up to ward off the bitter Arctic cold, he would pull his coat a little tighter around his neck and dream about his future, a future he hoped would some day see him settle down in his own home and with a wife and, eventually, their children.

‘One day, Iggy, one day,’ he would say to reassure himself.

And so Ignønsøn’s life may have continued along that sad and lonely path—until he ended up frozen stiff in an icy grave—had he not, late one sunny afternoon, spotted a blotch of red against the interminable white of the frozen Arctic landscape.

As he drew nearer, his breath was taken away, for he saw a polar bear. A sow. A big, blonde sow who had her snout buried in the entrails of an Inughuit.

On hearing his gasp, she raised her bloodied snout, turned towards him and said, ‘Hi, I’m Løøkya Isbjørn. My friends call me Løø. Do you want to share?’ She beamed a toothy, red smile, revealing what looked to Ignønsøn like a chunk of oozing liver between her front teeth.

A dumbstruck Ignønsøn froze as his face flushed. Don’t panic, he counselled himself, just stay calm and appear cool. His brain scrambled with response options. His heart raced, his palms sweated, his mouth dried. But he calmed himself with a deep breath, and plucking up courage, he stepped forward and stood beside Løøkya. He smiled at her, plunged his head into the gooey intestines and tore away a fleshy mouthful. And for Ignønsøn Nanuq, like any other normal, red-blooded, heterosexual polar boar, it was love at first bite.

That night, Ignønsøn and Løøkya devoured the rest of the Inughuit over a romantic dinner beneath the dancing light of the aurora borealis. He was a little self-conscious at first, especially when cracking open and crunching upon the Inughuit’s skull, but he soon relaxed, and all night they talked of life, of aspirations, of love. And how they laughed.

Just before dawn, they retreated inside the Inughuit’s igloo and bedded down as lovers. When they woke late afternoon, they were husband and wife. And homed.

***

Eight months later, their little IgLøø arrived.

As Ignønsøn looked down in awe at his newly born daughter, he marvelled at her beauty, her innocence, her potentiality; indeed, her perfection.

He turned to his wife, who lay exhausted and covered in birth waste, and with a glint in his eye, he said, ‘Hey, Løø, let’s make another. Now!’

‘Not happening, big boar,’ Løøkya said with a grimace. ‘Not now. Not ever. I ain’t going through all that pain and bloody mess again. And don’t get me started on the stretch marks! You can keep those hairy paws of yours to yourself.’

Though a tad disappointed, especially at never having a son, Ignønsøn looked down at his daughter and said to her, ‘Well, my LøøLøø, I’ll just have to spoil you rotten.’

The family Nanuq settled into a life of bliss. Ignønsøn doted on his girls, but in particular his beloved daughter. He taught her how and where to hunt for seals, how and where to swim, and how to avoid the Inughuits’ traps. He worked hard during the week to provide for his family. Friday nights were takeaway nights, so he would wander down to the nearest igloo for some fast food, and there he’d startle an Inughuit and snap their neck with his jaws. Once he had dragged the body back home, the Nanuqs would gather around the carcass and gorge themselves as they told stories and jokes and laughed with blood-smeared snouts. And often Ignønsøn would look up misty-eyed at his Løø and his LøøLøø and think, yes, he’s living the dream. His dream. His dream life. But one far better than the one he’d hoped for and fantasised about whilst huddled on those bitter Arctic nights back when he was a lonely transient.

But then, three days before his daughter’s fifth birthday, Ignønsøn Nanuq’s perfect life became less than perfect.

***

It all began with a simple, innocuous question at breakfast.

As Ignønsøn sat outside the igloo with Løøkya and chewed the fat with her whilst devouring a narwhal shank, he paused to use the narwhal’s tusk to pick a meat chunk from between his front teeth.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the first day of summer. Life sure is good. No, no, great.’

The crunch of pawfall on snow came from the igloo doorway, and LøøLøø, paler than usual and with her fur coat somewhat dishevelled, appeared frump-faced.

‘Morning, sweetie,’ Ignønsøn said. ‘How are you today?’

LøøLøø grunted a garbled reply and shot her father a glower that threatened to melt the Greenland ice sheet.

‘Want some breakfast? This narwhal is delicious.’

LøøLøø mumbled another unintelligible response as she gingerly lowered herself and sat opposite her father.

‘No? OK. How about we break the ice for our first swim of summer? Just the two of us. Wouldn’t that be fun?’

She gave a long groan as she placed her front paws over her midriff.

‘No? How about we—’

‘Oh, for Guuti’s sake, Ignønsøn!’ LøøLøø roared. ‘Will you pleeeaasssee shut the eff up!’

‘I beg your pardon, young lady? You apologise right n—’

‘Didn’t you hear me, you boaring old fart?! SHUT! THE! EFF! UP! Oh, I hate you! I just hate you!’

And she burst into tears, stood and stomped back inside the igloo.

Slightly bewildered, Ignønsøn looked over to his wife and said, ‘Hey, what’d I say? What’s with the attitude all of a sudden? And since when have I been “Ignønsøn!”? What ever happen to Daddy?’

Løøkya cast her eyes towards the igloo. With a knowing look, she patted Ignønsøn’s forelimb and said, ‘I think I know what’s going on. Back in a minute.’

He shook his head, confused by his daughter’s capricious behaviour. I hate you, she’d said. Him, her loving father. He went to console himself with a bite of his narwhal shank, but, alas, he’d lost his appetite. He cast the shank aside and sat slumped, brooding over LøøLøø’s outburst.

Løøkya returned and sat next to her husband.

‘Well?’ Ignønsøn said.

‘It’s the flow.’

‘The flu? Being under the weather’s no excuse for her behaviour.’

‘No, not the flu. The flow. Our little girl’s growing up. She’s no longer a cub. She blossoming into a sow. A big, beautiful blonde sow. Isn’t that wonderful?’

‘The flow, you say?’

‘Yes. You know, secret sows’ business.’

‘Oh, that. Already? Isn’t she a bit young?’

‘Certainly not. I started wh—’

He extended a paw towards his wife as bile rose in his throat and said, ‘Please, spare me the details.’

‘I’ve given her the talk.’

‘What talk?’

‘You know, the Brants and the Bombus polaris talk. Explained where little LøøLøøs come from. You just need to be more sensitive around her for a few days every month.’

‘What? I’m going to have to put up with her mood swings and being called “Ignønsøn!” and/or “a boaring old fart!” every month? And how the blazes will I know when her time of the month is?’

‘She can use this.’

Løøkya held out her paw. On it rested a flat metal object emblazoned with “Visit Greenland!” written in a flourishing, commercial hand.

‘What the Adlivun is that?’ Ignønsøn said.

‘A fridge magnet. A tourist souvenir. My mother gave it to me years ago when I came of age. I’ll get LøøLøø to place it just inside the igloo doorway so you get adequate warning as to when you need to steer clear.’

***

The next shock to Ignønsøn that made his to-then perfect life less than perfect came on the last day of that summer.

Apart from having to heed the fridge magnet and steer clear of his daughter’s foul moods and viperous tongue on two further brief occasions that summer, the bond between father and daughter held strong as they revelled in their shared time. But when he returned home from sealing on the last day of summer, he found LøøLøø’s bags packed.

‘What’s going on?’ Ignønsøn asked his wife.

‘LøøLøø’s going down to Nuuk.’

‘What? She’s leaving home? My LøøLøø?’ Tears welled in his eyes as a lump formed in his throat. ‘But she’s too young to leave home. There’s still so much I want to teach her. There’s still so much fun we can have.’

‘She’s not leaving home. Not permanently. She’s going to Nuuk to study. She’s been accepted at the University of Greenland and is going to major in marine biology.’

‘How long is that going to take?’

‘Three years.’

‘Three years! I’ll be an old boar by then.’

‘Don’t worry. She’ll be home every summer holiday.’

***

Next morning, Ignønsøn stood beside his wife at the edge of the walking path that led south to Nuuk and wept as he waved farewell to his LøøLøø as she set off. Once she had disappeared over the horizon, he turned and walked slumped-shouldered back to their igloo, an igloo now a little less full. Oh Guuti! he lamented, I’m an empty nester.

For three days and three nights, he lay in the foetal position, consumed in melancholy at the thought of his little LøøLøø being absent from his life for so long. Nine months. Nine interminable, excruciating months.

And during those long days and even longer nights, he grasped an object. A fridge magnet. And he squeezed it as hard as he could, until blood seeped from his palm, so desperate was he to mask the pain tearing at his heart.