“I know what it is they say about Finns. Dour, humorless, alcoholic. Tapio could be those things, and he could be something else altogether: fervent, sardonic, deeply principled but awake to his follies. He was mercurial.”

Macintyre gave me a gently chiding look. “Do not presume to know just how our Finnish friend may feel from one moment to the next. Finns may have a chilly exterior, but there is often a roiling, volcanic interior. They simply hide it better.”

“For now, take stock of yourself. This is the chance you waxed about so long ago. Listen for the voice that speaks when all others go silent. Be alone—be entirely alone. I am not saying you will find anything of worth there—certainly no cosmic truth—but maybe you will begin to feel as pared down, efficient and clean as a freshly whittled stick.”

“You will forgive yourself one day. The Arctic does strange things to people. Or strange people come to the Arctic. It makes little difference.”

“Bless and curse the man in equal measures, I said to no one. We have no more room in this hut.”

“Our friendship was one of patience and presence, and that was how it endured.”

“Below the chalk-white cliffs lies the ocean, and its restive heaving reminds me that there are still forces unfettered by time, older than ruin.”

“If you put nothing down, the people you love will only remember the skeleton of your experience. Your mind dies with you.”