‘Ajoik, yes. It was the song of your spirit. It wasn’t hard to write, it just… happened.’
‘It was beautiful, what were the lyrics?’
‘Maybe they weren’t so much lyrics as… a kind of list?’
‘A list?’
‘Of things that you are, things about you that I like, or things you make me think.’ Looking away hurriedly, he busied himself rummaging in the bag for a jar of nutmeg.
‘Are you turning red? OK, OK, I won’t push you. Just show me them written down one day?’
‘I will. I promise.’ Niilo nods, sprinkling a pinch of the nutmeg into the pot and passing a long-handled wooden spoon to Nari who crouches by the pot over the hearth and stirs.
The cosiness of their simple domesticated scene isn’t lost on either of them, and Niilo finds he can’t help smiling contentedly as he reaches for the coffee pot and pours the steaming black liquid into two tall plastic beakers.
‘These need to go outside on the windowsill for a minute, then we drink.’
As Niilo briefly opens the low window, a sudden blast of cold air helps Nari realise it has become warm enough in the little room to strip out of their snowsuits.
While the coffee cools on the snowy ledge, and without looking towards each other, they remove their outer layers with a curious shyness.
Niilo is hooking the suits on the back of the den door when Nari gives in to temptation and turns to watch him in his wonderful blue clothing, ornate, elegant and timeless. Finding herself in danger of staring and in need of distraction, she lets her gaze flit towards the glass cabinet behind the sofa. ‘What’s in there?’
‘Family stuff. Come, take a look.’
Unlocking the cabinet doors, Niilo carefully lifts out a large flat object with painted figures all over it. Nari comes to stand near him.
‘This is my great grandfather’s drum.’
‘It’s beautiful. It looks so fragile.’ Nari isn’t sure why her voice has shrunk to a near whisper.
Mirroring her stillness, his voice lowers to a murmur too. ‘It’s made from reindeer skin. Grandpa made it himself, and painted these animals on it.’
‘They’re bears?’ Nari asks, peering closely with a delighted smile.
‘Some of the old people of the Sápmi believed in a kind of animism – that everything in nature has a spirit. We believed you could speak to our ancestors through the natural world. My family were particularly associated with the spirits of bears, I think, although I don’t really know much more about them. Their stories got lost when my parents died. Maybe I should have listened better when I was a kid.’
Eyeing Niilo cautiously, Nari can feel some of his loss and regret.
‘Singing songs was one way of passing on family histories. When a new person was welcomed into my family, they received theirjoik.It told them of their place in the family, and in the universe.’
‘And you wrote ajoikfor me.’
Niilo returns her gaze. ‘I did.’ He immediately looks back at the drum, a little ruffled. ‘There’s so much I don’t remember about my family, and so much that wasn’t written down that must have been contained in songs and stories that I’ll never hear.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Nari says, for want of better words.
‘But I still have the summer and winter cabins.’ He looks around with a faint smile. ‘And I have this drum, of course. It should probably be in a museum, but I don’t feel it belongs there.’
‘No, it’s yours.’
‘And I have these too. My father’s knife and belt, and these are the boots my grandmother made for me when my mother was pregnant.’ He reaches into the cupboard before handing her the tiny reindeer hide shoes.
‘They’re beautiful. But… no photographs?’ Nari glances around the room. ‘I haven’t seen a single picture.’
‘I don’t have many here. My cousin has some family albums, I think,’ Niilo said with a sorry shrug, noticing that Nari was gently cradling the tiny shoes to her chest.
In the silence that followed, Nari let her eyes look over the beautiful fabric of Niilo’s outfit with its skirted jacket, shining buttons and golden thread embroidery again. Something moved her to reach her hand to his belt, gently running her fingertips over the sheathed knife that hung there.
