“In this light, against his naked whiteness, the scars around his wrists and ankles are as black as iron bands. "Do you think that people determine their own lives, Smilla?" "The details," I say, "but the big things happen on their own." The telephone rings. He removes the tape and listens to a brief message. Then he hangs up. "You might want to take out your high-heeled shoes. Birgo wants to meet us tonight." "Where?" He laughs secretively. "A shady dive, Smilla. But put on your good clothes." ... He carries me up the stairs. I kick in his arms, and we laugh quietly so as not to attract attention. In Qaanaaq, when I was little, the bridegroom would drag the bride out to the sled on their wedding night, and they would drive off followed by hooting guests. Sometimes they still do that. The hour I'm going to spend alone getting dressed already seems long. I'd rather ask him to stay so I could keep on looking at him. He's still not completely anchored in reality for me. His raw sweetness, his massive bulk and awkward politeness are still like a vivid dream.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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