Page 117 - The Midnight Library
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                   ‘Bit   early   in   the   morning,   isn’t   it,   for   philosophy?’   Nora   laughed,

                ner vously.
                   She  saw  a  wall  of  ice  outside  the  porthole,  rising  out  of  the  sea.  She  was
                either ver y far north or ver y far south. She was ver y far somewhere.
                   e  woman  was  still  staring  at  her.  Nora  had  no  idea  if  they  were  friends

                or  not.  e  woman  seemed  tough,  direct,  earthy,  but  probably  an  interesting
                form of company.
                   ‘I   don’t   mean    philosophy.     I   don’t   even   mean    what    got   you   into
                glaciological  research.  Although,  it  might  be      the   same  thing.  I  mean,  why

                did  you  choose  to  go  as  far  away  from  civilisation  as  possible?  You’ve  never
                told me.’
                   ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I like the cold.’
                   ‘No one likes this cold. Unless they are a sado-masochist.’

                   She  had  a  point.  Nora  reached  for  the  sweater  at  the  end  of  her  bed  and
                put   it   on,   over   the   sweater   she   was   already   wearing.   As   she   did   she   saw,
                beside the vodka bottle, a laminated lanyard lying on the floor.



                                                     Ingrid Skirbekk
                                                Professor of Geoscience
                                        International Polar Research Institute


                ‘I   don’t   know,   Ingrid.   I   just   like   glaciers,   I   suppose.   I   want   to   understand

                them. Why they are . . . melting.’
                   She   wasn’t   sounding    like   a   glacier   expert,   judging   from   Ingrid’s   raised
                eyebrows.
                   ‘What about you?’ she asked, hopefully.

                   Ingrid  sighed.  Rubbed  her  palm  with  a  thumb.  ‘Aer  Per  died,  I  couldn’t
                stand  to  be  in  Oslo  any  more.  All  those  people  that  weren’t  him,  you  know?
                ere  was  this  coffee  shop  we  used  to  go  to,  at  the  university.  We’d  just  sit
                together,   together   but   silent.   Happy   silent.   Reading   newspapers,   drinking

                coffee.    It   was   hard   to   avoid   places   like   that.   We   used   to   walk   around
                ever ywhere.  His  troublesome  soul  lingered  on  ever y  street  .  .  .  I  kept  telling
                his  memor y  to  piss  the  fuck  off  but  it  wouldn’t.  Grief  is  a  bastard.  If  I’d  have
                stayed   any   longer,   I’d   have   hated   humanity.   So,   when   a   research   position

                came up in Svalbard I was like, yes, this has come to save  me  . . . I wanted to
                be  somewhere  he  had  never  been.  I  wanted  somewhere  where  I  didn’t  have
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