Ice worms first start communing with me in Forlandsundet, a miles-deep sound north of the Greenland Sea. I don’t speak Norwegian, but I can parse: For. Land. Sun. It’s completely black outside. Det means “that or it.” Det, that’s easy, I’ve been one all my life.
The KV Svalbard is an icebreaker. From the foredeck, the rocky screes sweeping west are the planet’s emptiest place. No one between us and the North Pole.
“Det,” I hear, “Oi Det.” I can’t locate the strange, oblong voice, more of a nose whistle. Near me? but not inside me. I soon give up.
Contributors
Abd al-Hakim Qasim [ + ][ – ]
Loading . . .
Peter Quartermain [ + ][ – ]
Loading . . .
George Quasha [ + ][ – ]
Loading . . .
The Brothers Quay [ + ][ – ]
Loading . . .
The Quay Brothers [ + ][ – ]
Loading . . .
Margaret Queeney [ + ][ – ]
Loading . . .
Alice Quinn [ + ][ – ]
Loading . . .