Chapter 3

Chapter Three

-Abigail-

Friday, November 18

Finally, I can relax! I hate airports. They are so confusing, and busy!

I thought I would never find Rosy. My head still swam from the bustle and the hundred times I had to ask directions to the same place.  

Now we are in the air, the hum of the jet’s engine thrumming in my ear, sleep tugging my eyelids. But, I could not sleep, my mind was wide awake, buzzing with too many thoughts.

I was tense, thinking about the men Rosy had seen on the bus.

I look at her, and I can see she is nervous; either from flying or the thought of being followed by thieves. I think it is both.

I smile and take her hand. “Let’s pray?” I suggest.

I can see her relax, then she smiles and nods, then I begin.

“Jesus, keep us safe on our journey, and give us wisdom. Let the glory be to you in this. Thank you for this opportunity. Amen. ”

Rosy remembered a verse, and said aloud, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God;”

We both felt much better now, and I could see the calm on Rosy’s face.

As I am unable to sleep, I got out our laptop and began recording our journey, writing everything down from receiving the package to now.

It gave me a headache, so I decide to practice Kalaallisut with Rosy.

Later, while I am walking to the bathrooms, I pass two men.

They are watching me.

I quickly turn my eyes away, hoping they did not notice that I saw them, my heart beating so loud I was afraid it would be heard.

Once I returned to my seat, I, in hushed tones, filled Rosy in on the men who were watching us.

Stealthily, sort of, Rosy makes a quick peek over her shoulder.

She whips her head around, her eyes are wide and she looks slightly pale.

“Those are the two men who were talking about us on the bus!” she squeaks.

I sigh disappointedly, but of course they wouldn’t just let us get away when they have just been talking about us and following us this morning.

I sigh again. I do not like being followed by crooks.

I almost sigh once more, then decide to educate myself on Greenland instead, as it seemed to be the more practical thing to do.

Soon my head nods, my eyes close, and  I lull off into sleep, dreaming of Antonio and his partner, chasing, always chasing, reaching for us.

My legs will not move.

Antonio’s fingers reach for my neck; I scream.

I am being shaken violently, then the dream vanishes.

Rosy is staring at me, with some shock, I note.

So is every passenger on the jet, including the two men.

I swallow, still shaking, then breathe deep and try my best to act natural.

I don’t think it is working, so I just ignore the stares.

The rest of the flight to Greenland, I stay calm, but I hear people whispering about me. I sink into my seat and do my best to camouflage in.

“How do these things manage to  happen?” I ask Rosy despairingly.

She grins. “You’re Abby.”

That is all the explanation I need. This is going to be a miserable flight.

We will only be arriving tomorrow. I think maybe I shall cry.

-Saturday, November 19-

I slept well, surprisingly, considering yesterday’s events.

I do feel slightly nauseous, though. I am not used to sleeping in the sky.

I wonder how the pilot stays awake, if he indeed had.

I didn’t want to think of that.

We would be landing today, Lord willing, and thank goodness.

Later in the afternoon, the pilot’s voice crackles through the intercom telling passengers to prepare to land. I hug Rosy with force and she laughs at my silliness.

And I am always the one who is talking about wanting to fly. Balderdash.

A little while later, we are landed!

It is cold outside, and my jacket is in my suitcase, so I shiver in my sweatshirt.

Rosy has thought ahead and kept her jacket by our seats, so she is warm, that smart girl.

We get our luggage, then look around.

“What do we do now?” Rosy asks. I am wondering the same thing, then I see a man with a sign that says our names.

“Look! I think there is our ride.” I tell her, so we jog over.

When we reach the man, he smiles broadly and  says, “Tikilluarit!” Welcome.

“Qujan. Qanoq ateqarpit?” I thank him and ask his name.

His name is Daavi and when we ask how he knew we were coming and why he was waiting for us,  he explains in broken English and hand gestures that he was told to rent a car for us and meet us at the airport. He does not know who it was that told him, it was just a note and some money.

Daavi gives us the keys and bids us good luck and goodbye.

We get in the car, and Rosy takes out the address that was in the box with the tupilak. Thankfully, there is a GPS in the car;

I can hardly find my way from one street to another back home.

The GPS takes us out of the city and into a desolate place, there are no people, no traffic, hardly a house to be seen. A place of dismal emptiness.

Finally, we arrive at a lone house on a cliff by the sea.

We walked up to the door, then looked at one another.

Rosy motioned for me to do the knocking and talking, which I did.

The door creaked and a little old woman, with long black hair and black twinkling eyes, stepped out.

Wrinkles fanned out across her face when she smiled. “Aluu. Ajunngilatit?”

She is  greeting us and asking how we are doing

“Ajunngilanga. Illimmi qanoq ippit?” I reply.

“Ajunngilanga, qujanaq.” Her smile broadens. “Qanoq ateqarpit?”

We introduced ourselves, then she introduced herself as Ersta.

She invited us in and began warming water, and placed brownies and cookies on the table. “Tuluttut oqaluttarpi?” I ask.

She smiles. “Yes, I do. Would you like some coffee, or hot chocolate?” she replies with a thick accent.

“Coffee, please.” we both say simultaneously with relief. It is hard communicating when we know so little of the language.

Soon we were all sitting around the table sipping coffee and eating treats.

“It seems like you have been expecting us. It isn’t coincidence that there are fresh cookies and brownies, is it?” Rosy asked.

“Yes, I expect you. I cannot say who tell me. You find out sometime. I am friend of who send you tupilak.” She bit into her cookie.

“I get package today. Note tell me to give to you.” She got up and went into the next room. She returned with a cardboard box.

We cut the tape and opened it. I grasped the hilt of a thousand year old  vikings sword hilt. The blade was broken off about three inches from the guard. I could barely make out some writing on the remainder of the  blade.

I brushed some of the rust and dirt off.

“Old Norse.” Ersta says. “Icelandic viking sword.”

There is a piece of paper taped on the end of the pommel.

“Elliðaár.”

That is all. No address; but there is a boat fare.