Chapter III – Autumn Harvest

A mountain of cardboard boxes had taken over the deserted entrance of the shop. The temporary workers had left as they came, without a word, and both the institute and the shop had closed their doors for two weeks for renovation. The decision had been made to merge the shop and the institute to increase their potential and efficiency. 

The reopening day was approaching, and Valur had been invited to a special training session for employees of the newly branded ÚTL Souvenirs shop. In the entrance hall, overflowing with deliveries, two areas had been set up for the day. On one side, an area for those who did not tap well or at all, and on the other, an area for those who tapped naturally. 

“We’re going to have a good season,” muttered the old man as he passed Valur, before joining the tapping group.

Valur took a chair and joined the circle forming in front of him. He recognised a few faces, mostly agents from the institute with whom he had discussed his residency. He had grown accustomed to not being recognised in return. Other unfamiliar faces joined the group, surely new employees.

“Welcome, welcome everyone. We’re going to give a short presentation on what’s new at ÚTL Souvenirs, followed by some practical exercises,” said a polite, cheerful voice. 

Valur had never seen this person before.

“My Deportation Guide is the institute’s new publication that you will be selling in the shop.” 

A medium-sized book began to circulate among the attendees. It seemed that the institute had decided to replace its partially appealing informative leaflets with a comprehensive educational guide filled with landscapes and monuments. Funny anecdotes clashed with administrative procedures on the same page, while colourful postcards adorned the bureaucratic texts to distract readers from their anxiety. 

“After extensive research, our specialists concluded that it was all a matter of perspective. Since our clients have no control over their situation, we at the institute want to give them the tools to change their outlook on their situation. We must redefine deportation!”

Suddenly, Valur shivered. Without a sound, the Ankú joined his group and sat on an empty chair right in front of him. His disproportionate size and long coat captivated the attention of the employees. In his left arm, he held a long stick topped with a net for catching birds. This was new. 

“The book is included in the “First Rejection? Go!” package,” continued the presenter as if nothing had happened.

What was he doing there, especially among the group of people who didn’t know tapping language? Valur wondered, his eyes fixed on Ankúli’s hunched back. 

“It will also be available for free consultation in the lobby, with the label Property of ÚTL – Útlundingastofnun.”

Valur barely glanced at the book that passed through his hands. He had never wondered what ÚTL meant. Seeing it written out in full didn’t change that.

“You will find an introduction package about the new deportation procedure under your chair. The “First Rejection? Go!” package will also include our new T-shirts, focused on empowerment and using symbolic, positive illustrations,” she continued. The presenter unpacked a few T-shirts, “My deportation, my choice”, “ÚTL, let me go” and other tacky illustrations of the Ankúli himself accompanying puffins in the setting sun. 

Valur was vaguely listening to the presentation. If the Ankú wasn’t in the tapping group, did that mean he had also arrived here, like Valur?

“You are encouraged to wear them during your working hours,” added the presenter.

Had he made any applications too? Had he been granted a skilled worker permit? Valur thought that it was way too ironic that an applicant would be employed to deport other applicants. 

“Thank you, and don’t forget, always have deportation packages ready in front of the shop!” heard Valur amid a round of applause. “And now, a little action!”

As everyone stood up, the Ankúli remained motionless. Valur picked up the demonstration package from under his chair. It consisted of a book, stickers, sweets and a stuffed puffin whose head and wings were painfully straining out of the narrow bag. It was the exact same stuffed puffin that Valur had given the crying child at the end of the summer. His throat tightened. 

The Ankúli finally stood up and glanced slowly at Valur, who was still sitting with the stuffed puffin in his hands. It was then that Valur noticed the same distinctive dripping sound from their first encounter. A puddle of water marked the Ankú’s seating spot, and drops followed his footsteps as he joined the rest of the group gathering in the centre of the hall. 

It hadn’t rained for several days, so why was the Ankúli soaking wet again? With his eyes fixed on the puffin, Valur vividly recalled the summer deportation, the child engulfed in the Ankú’s coat, the crying… A thought crossed Valur’s mind with horror. What if those weren’t raindrops falling from the Ankúli’s cloak? 

“Get into pairs and start handing out packages!”

The rest of the morning consisted of practical exercises combining sales strategies and assisting the Ankúli in his procedures. 

“As soon as you see that the Ankúli is beginning a deportation, bring the deportation packages and offer them a good experience!”

Valur and the other employees ran around the hall, handing deportation packages to each other until their movements became automatic and lost all meaning. 

The day of the grand reopening arrived. Jumping off the last zip line, Valur arrived at work out of breath. The days were getting shorter, as were his chances of residency and his motivation to arrive on time. Employees were already busy in front of the doors of ÚTL Souvenirs, trying to stabilise a huge inflatable structure made especially for the occasion. Valur helped them as he passed by. 

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The old man’s tapping fingers on the glass door pulled Valur out of his thoughts. A huge statue of the Ankúli decorated the right side of the new entrance, accompanied by an equally giant puffin statue.

Tiptiptap taptip tiptiptip

“The children will love it!” exalted the old man by way of greeting.

The old man tapped his fingers anxiously on the cardboard boxes still blocking partly the entrance to the shop.

“Unpack this quickly! They’re coming!”

The old man seemed nervous about the scale of the changes and had not anticipated that his new business venture would take up so much space in the shop. Valur understood from his anxious tapping that copies of My guide to Deportation needed to be scattered between the institute and the shop. As he strategically positioned the first book near the counters of the former institute, Valur watched the old man frantically open more boxes. He took out a passport-shaped book entitled Passport Souvenirs and placed it on the most prominent stand in the shop. The cover was a distorted imitation of a real local passport. So was the first page, except that anyone could fill in their personal information. The rest of the facsimile was a mixture of administrative forms and quizzes on local history and culture. 

The old man hoped to attract both travellers and applicants with his book. He had made an agreement with the new institute to gamify some of their forms, and applicants could submit the Passport Souvenirs along with their other documents. “A game for visitors, a test for applicants, a souvenir for everyone” – he overheard the old man repeating to himself. 

“Put it in a prominent place, I want everyone to see this passport in the window and want to buy it,” said the old man as he ran from one corner of the shop to the other. 

The grand reopening attracted a large crowd, including local families. Valur was startled from time to time when he heard children screaming outside. They were having a blast going in and out of the huge inflatable structure that he helped set up this morning, modelled after the Ankúli’s mobile border van. 

A queue almost as long as the one at the institute’s counters had formed in front of the real Ankúli’s van parked on display right in front of the entrance for the occasion. Everyone wanted a photo of the freshly repainted puffin van as they were calling it. The Ankúli was assigned to the photo booth at the back of his van. He sat there with his huge catching net, as emotionless as ever, while cheerful faces appeared squeezing in beside him for a photo. Even the Minister of Good Judgment had come by for an official photo op.

The end of the day was approaching and Valur was arranging the new armies of Ankúli-like figurines escorting puffins or walking hand in hand with applicants. He thought again of his broken puffin figurine, still in his pocket, and remembered with nostalgia his first days at the shop. He didn’t get the same feelings for these new statuettes as he did back then.

“Well, it didn’t work out,” said the old man, rousing Valur from his pensive apathy. The old man approached Valur and handed him a large envelope. His application as a skilled worker had been rejected. 

“You still have one option,” said the old man, handing him a Passport Souvenirs from the presentation stand. “Read it thoroughly and apply for residency on emotional grounds. You know the puffins so well now, you know how things work here, and I can see how much you care for the figurines. You love them even more than I do! And your tapping has improved, right?”

Valur took the passport imitation in his hands and opened it to the page entitled “Application for residency for emotional reunification”. The first line read: “To obtain residency through emotional reunification, you must demonstrate a strong and continuing affection for the culture, language and economy of the country.”

A seasonal downpour cut short the festivities outside, and everyone rushed into the entrance hall, soaking wet. Valur shoved the passport into his pocket and began serving the new arrivals. For once, they were mostly tapping people and Valur finally had the chance to put his tapping skills to the test. He would need them for his final application.