The Greenlander at the End of the World

Polar air has no scent. This was something Eli Min only learned after arriving in Greenland. The sub-twenty-degree Celsius cold slows the release and spread of scent molecules to a near halt, leaving the air so clean it borders on blankness—nothing but the icy bite of snow and frost. Eli Min sniffed, and a rush of frigid air flooded his nostrils. It took him half a second to register the creased skin on the bridge of his nose. His sense of touch was numb, as if his face had been buried in the deepest freezer, frozen solid like ice cream that refused to melt no matter how much you licked it. Eli Min wrinkled his nose again, trying to loosen the stiffness in his features, then plunged his foot back into the snow. Today was a clear day—no clouds in the sky, sunlight spilling over the ice fields, stretching as far as the eye could see in an endless expanse of white. The snow was pure white, the ice walls faintly blue. Eli Min trudged unevenly around a small iceberg, only to be nearly blinded by the vast, horizonless glare of snow when he looked up. Instinctively, he reached for his sunglasses—though one arm was broken and the right lens was cracked, they could at least block some of the light and spare his eyes. But all he felt was the frozen stiffness of his pant leg. Eli Min: "...Fuck." He’d forgotten them. Eli Min clicked his tongue, squinted up at the sky, and sighed. Whatever. If he went blind, he went blind. At least he had guide dogs back home—five howling huskies. Not that he was sure those five idiots could actually guide anyone. Shaking off the thought, Eli Min yanked his leg free and took another step into the snow. Today, he was walking three kilometers from the village to the harbor. Well, "harbor" was a generous term. It was really just a small bay, its surface perpetually dotted with drifting ice, only able to accommodate small fishing boats and passenger ferries. If you wanted to travel from the village to other towns on the island, you had to go by water. Months ago, his neighbors, the Nanook family, had set off from here for a city dozens of nautical miles away. Before leaving, they’d entrusted him with their house and their five sled dogs—and then never returned. Every few days, Eli Min came to the harbor to check if the Nanooks were back. Every time, he left empty-handed. Today was no different. Eli Min braced himself against the icy crust and gazed at the azure bay. There was no wind today. The sea was calm, mint-blue ice floes drifting lazily on the water. No sign of the Nanooks’ red fishing boat. Breathing shallowly, Eli Min took in the view—the pristine white ice stretching to the shore, giving way to black rocks just meters from the water’s edge. Dozens of plump seals lounged on them, basking in the rare sunlight, the scene so beautiful it looked like something out of a fairy tale. The end of the world: polar Greenland. Eighty percent of the world’s largest island was covered in ice, most of it within the Arctic Circle. The living conditions were harsh, yet its uniquely pristine landscapes drew travelers from around the globe, pilgrims to this frozen land. But no matter how beautiful the scenery, seeing it day after day for years on end would make anyone numb to it. Eli Min stared at the bay, took a slow breath, and then tilted his head back: "How much longer do I have to stay in this godforsaken place?!" He was going insane!! Every damn day, all he saw was snow! Ice! Summer was minus-teens, winter was minus-thirties! What kind of hellhole was this?! Compared to him, even prisoners exiled to Ningguta in ancient times must’ve lived in tropical paradise! "I can’t take it anymore!" Eli Min shouted, frustration boiling over. He stomped his feet for good measure. "Why won’t the harbor open?! How much longer are they gonna keep me trapped here?!" His voice carried far across the open ice fields. The seals on the shore stirred, letting out low grumbles of protest at the disturbance. Eli Min shrank back, rubbing his hands together apologetically: "Sorry, sorry—didn’t mean to interrupt your nap." As if understanding, the seals plopped their heads back onto the rocks, their thick tails slapping the ground a few times before they resumed their sunbathing. Eli Min exhaled in relief, then pressed a hand to his chest, which felt oddly tight. The shouting had winded him. He’d been anemic since birth, and after trekking three kilometers through the snow, he was already lightheaded. Those yells had nearly knocked him flat. What made it worse was that, as Eli Min hunched over, vision darkening at the edges, he noticed the flawless, translucent blue ice beneath his feet. His little tantrum hadn’t left so much as a scratch on it. Eli Min choked back a groan. He probably looked like a tiny grasshopper hopping around on the ice—his "destructive power" couldn’t even compare to a seal flicking its tail. The thought deflated him. His legs wobbled, so he plopped down onto the ice for a breather. Beside him was a baby seal, its fur still white and fluffy. When Eli Min sat down, it let out a few squeaky grunts but didn’t move away—in fact, it wriggled a little closer. "Hm?" Eli Min turned his head and absently stroked the pup’s back, his voice instinctively softening. "Hey there, little guy. What’re you doing here?" The pup didn’t shy away. Its big, black eyes—like glossy grapes—stared up at him, its tiny nose twitching. Eli Min’s heart melted. He scooped the pup into his arms, cradling it against his chest. Over the years, his frequent trips to the harbor had made him familiar with these seals. Normally, they’d be wary of humans—after all, they were prey for the local Inuit. But whether it was because the island’s population had dwindled or because Eli Min looked too scrawny to be a threat, the seals had always ignored him. As Eli Min snuggled the pup, the adults nearby continued lounging, seemingly fine with him handling their young. "You’re so cute," Eli Min murmured, bumping noses with the pup. Their thick blubber kept them warm in the extreme cold, making them feel like plump hot-water bottles. Eli Min lay back on the ice, staring up at the cloudless blue sky, and exhaled slowly. Truthfully, he didn’t even know how many years he’d been in Greenland. At first, he’d come as a tourist. Then he’d missed his boat and gotten stranded. Later, for some reason, the harbor closed. He’d waited eight months in Nuuk, the capital, only to be told the freeze-up period kept getting extended. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore and decided to travel around the island. During that trip, he’d fallen in love with this quiet northeastern village. Figuring he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon—and not expecting to live much longer anyway—he’d settled down. And then, somehow, years passed. The village had no signal, no internet, just a handful of radio stations. It was an isolated paradise, which had suited Eli Min’s desire to retreat from the world. He’d figured he didn’t have long to live anyway, so dying in this remote corner of the earth wasn’t a bad way to go. Eli Min was an orphan. The orphanage that raised him had long since been demolished, so he didn’t have any "returning to roots" sentiments. The reason his biological parents abandoned him was obvious. He’d been born with multiple genetic defects and immune disorders—anemia, underdeveloped lungs, a weak digestive system. While other kids in the orphanage were running and jumping, he was still bedridden, needing help to eat, his bones frail. So he’d never resented being abandoned. Everyone wanted a healthy child. He was lucky just to have survived, let alone made it to college on smarts alone. After he enrolled, his biological parents—whoever they were—had somehow heard and sent him money. Guilt? Atonement? Who knew. Eli Min hadn’t felt much about it, but he wasn’t about to refuse cash. He’d set the "compensation" aside as a travel fund, covering his living expenses with part-time jobs and scholarships until, at 21, he’d finally embarked on his first real trip—an exchange program to Canada, then onward to Greenland... Not that he’d be graduating now. Early on, he’d kept track of time with calendars. But as the village emptied out due to worsening winters and shops closed, he’d started marking days on his wall. By the time the entire wall was covered, he was still here. Eventually, he’d given up counting. No point ruining his house. So he didn’t know how long it had been. Just that it was definitely over five years. Wait, am I thirty now? The thought hit him like lightning. He shuddered. The pup in his arms wriggled, letting out a concerned squeak. Eli Min petted it absently. The idea that he might be thirty, still without a degree, was depressing—but it wasn’t his fault! He hadn’t expected to live this long! Eli Min shook his head and sighed. "Life just happens, huh?" If Auntie Zhang—who’d cared for him at the orphanage—heard that, she’d smack his back and scold, "Everyone else fights to live, and here you are, always thinking about dying! Get it together!" To which Eli Min would’ve grinned and said, "If I think about it enough, it stops being scary." Then Auntie Zhang would hug him and ruffle his hair. The memory of her plain but kind face made his chest ache. He wondered how she was doing, if she worried about him. After a while, he sat up, ate some frozen fish jerky for energy, and started the trek back. As autumn set in (though Greenland really only had two seasons—winter and summer—Eli Min still called it autumn), the days grew shorter. He needed to get home before dark. At the edge of the world, Greenland spent most of the year in either midnight sun or polar night. From May to August, the sun never set. From September to March, it barely rose. If you lived by sunrise and sunset, you’d either never sleep or sleep for days straight. At least you didn’t need an alarm clock. Halfway back, a fierce wind kicked up. Eli Min had to pull on his polar bear fur hat and wrap his scarf around his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. Step after laborious step, he pushed through the snow. Today wasn’t too bad—it only came up to his knees. He yanked one leg free, only to lose his balance when a gust of wind slammed into him from behind, sending him face-first into the snow. The scrawny young man might as well have been made of paper. He stuck to the ground like a wet leaf. Eli Min, face buried in snow: "..." He was so done with this.