Chapter IV – The Dead of Winter

Valur dropped yet another heavy envelope full of administrative forms in the letterbox at the now ÚTL Souvenirs. He had spent the last few weeks undergoing a battery of tapping tests and in-depth interviews to document his application of emotional reunification. The cost of these procedures had also forced him to take up a side job in addition to the shop: he sold discarded puffin figures in the city centre at night. Many other applicants were looking to collect them for their own emotional reunification applications. 

As the winter’s darkness was spreading, the silent shadow of the Ankúli became less and less noticeable. The atmosphere in the entrance hall had changed. Applicants stayed there from morning to night, sitting on the floor in the dim light. Altars had appeared in some corners, illuminated by a multitude of candles. Regular prayers were organised around Ankúli figurines, purchased directly from the shop. Offerings of all kinds surrounded the figurines: food, children’s drawings, photos of applicants and official documents. Entire groups prostrated themselves and recited prayers in a multitude of languages in a newly found devotion to the Ankúli. 

“A bit ironic, don’t you think?” said a woman sitting on the floor, leaning against the shop’s main window. Valur was doing the opening, as always. He and the woman had been greeting each other silently for a few days, but had never interacted before. 

“It’s always the same when the end of the year comes around,” she continued without waiting for Valur’s response. “They pray to be chosen by the Ankútl when the rest of the year they avoid him like the plague.”

“They pray to be chosen?” repeated Valur, stopping his mechanical movement and leaving the key half-turned in the lock of the glass door. 

“Haven’t you read the books you sell? It’s the legend of the Ankútl. The last deportee of the year becomes the mobile border officer for the following year. He becomes the new Ankútl,” she announced, her gaze both amused and haughty, barely directed at Valur. 

Valur remembered reading a multitude of folktales about the Ankúli in books from the shop over the past months; he had even learned some of them by heart for his final application on emotional grounds. He assumed that they were just stories to entertain children, typical tales, good for sales. 

Valur thought back on the Ankú’s unique appearance and the fact that he had been placed in the group of those who did not know the tapping language during the training. He shuddered at the thought he had back then, which now got confirmed. The Ankúli was indeed one of them. 

“And what happens to the old Ankúli?” asked Valur.

“No one has stayed long enough to find out. Logic would dictate that he gets the right to stay…” She smiled briefly. “But the casual cruelty of this place surprises me a little more every day… who knows. Maybe he gets deported too.”

Over the next few days, Valur got into the habit of talking with her every morning. She seemed to know more about these procedures than the ÚTL Souvenirs agents themselves. She had completed form ANK-0934853 on the basis of conflicting bodies. She was quite advanced in age, but had an extremely alert gaze. She had been a doctor and researcher in natural sciences before all this. Her name was Morrig. Her country was disappearing. 

“What do they want from you now?” asked Morrig, always eager to give her opinion on ongoing procedures. 

Valur had received a fairly quick response to his request for emotional reunification. His tests and interviews had been accepted, and all that was left was a medical examination to finalise his application. 

“They want to do a dental analysis to estimate my biochemical level of emotional attachment,” replied Valur.

She burst out laughing.

“That’s ridiculous. No test can measure that accurately. It’s fallacious, an abuse of science,” she declared, visibly agitated. Her laughter was short-lived, and she resumed her usual cynicism. “Not the first abuse, and not the last,” she said with a smirk.

Valur reluctantly read the final step of the application. He had to place a tooth, preferably a molar, in a small sealed bag and send it within 15 days to the institute. 

“I’ve lived in many places before this one,” Morrig continued as she looked at the form with Valur. “It’s always the same. I have no illusions about these procedures. They are designed to ease the conscience of officials and citizens, not to help people like us. The exceptions that benefit from them confirm the rule.”

Despite her fatalism, Morrig still helped Valur pull out a tooth for the application. It was quite difficult to loosen, but once the molar was weakened, the wire attached to the shop door did the rest. Valur carefully placed the bloody tooth in the bag provided for this purpose, then in a large envelope, and finally in the ÚTL Souvenirs letterbox. 

Evenings and mornings blended together in a uniform twilight. Valur lost track of time. The ever-recognisable clatter of the mobile border engine had become a familiar background noise, as had the sound of footsteps running away as soon as it made itself heard.

“They have money for all those T-shirts and puffins, but they don’t have money to repair their engine,” Morrig noted in her daily ironies. The old man wasn’t really happy to see her hanging around the shop without ever buying anything, but he tolerated her nonetheless.

One morning the rattle of the van was accompanied by piercing, persistent, inhuman screams. Even the applicants who were ready to make their usual escape stopped for a moment, incredulous. The old man, with whom Valur hardly interacted anymore, became livelier as if by magic. 

“Haha, they finally got it to work! What a technological breakthrough! How beautiful!” he declared proudly. 

Valur did not understand. He glanced clueless at Morrig, and for the first time saw a genuine incomprehension wash over her usually confident face. The three of them rushed to the only window overlooking the parking lot, while the crowd of applicants lingered, unsure how to react to this new sound. From their vantage point, they saw the Ankúli getting a dozen puffins out of his van. 

“I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to make ends meet the first year, but with this reduction in the costs of deportation, we should be fine!” said the old man with noticeable relief. 

Valur and Morrig exchanged confused and worried glances. 

“Where did all these puffins come from?” asked Valur. 

“From the van!” answered the old man, unable to contain his enthusiasm. “The applicants get in, the Ankútl activates the system, and they come out transformed into puffins! It’s much cheaper than temporary accommodation or plane tickets. And the applicants can be independent and dignified in their remigration. Visually, it’s also more pleasant for everyone.”

Valur turned towards Morrig to confirm the reality of what he had just heard, but she had already returned to her usual spot near the shop.

“That’s so well thought out. Applicants can deport themselves, they can stand on their own two feet! Well, it’s not really the season to migrate, but they should be fine! They have their own wings!” added the old man, smiling stiffly at the Ankúli who, with his catching net stretched out in his hand, was trying in vain to signal to the puffins to take their first flight and fly out to sea. 

Valur stood frozen. He noticed a confused man among the puffins, getting out of the van. 

“Ah, yes… if by mistake they take a legal one into the group, the system will know and won’t turn it into a puffin! The system is so well designed. It says yes or no, the rest is cooperation!” he concluded. 

Valur joined Morrig, leaving the old man at the window to continue his contemplation. 

“Another good use of science. Did you think they were going to spend so much on the new ÚTL Souvenirs just to make people feel better? No, they were preparing for this,” Morrig muttered, as if talking to herself. She seemed to be boiling with rage, or perhaps with vexation for not having anticipated this development. Or both. 

“I’m not going to wait until the end of the year. I’m not going to play their game,” she said, resolved. “I’m a scientist. I’m a humanist. I’m not going to wait to be turned into a puffin or chosen by the Ankútl. It’s not a choice.”

She turned abruptly towards Valur. 

“I have a plan. At night, in the harbour, there are cargo ships leaving for the south. The good south.” 

Valur saw Morrig from time to time in the corridors of ÚTL Souvenirs, until he no longer did.