Hello, yes, thank you. I am calling from Greenland. My English is not perfect but I will try. This happened in December of 1997. Late December. If you know anything about Greenland, you know what that means. The sun does not rise. Not for weeks. You live in darkness. Just the moon and the stars and the snow. It does something to you after a while. You start to feel like the world has forgotten you exist. I was living in Ilulissat with my wife and my son, Mikkel. He was eleven years old then. We had a small house near the harbor. My wife's mother had just passed that autumn, so it was a difficult time. We were not sleeping well, any of us. Mikkel especially. He would stay up late reading by candlelight because the power was unreliable that winter. That is the context. That is where we were.
The night it happened, we had just finished watching the sunset from the kitchen window. Beautiful colors, you know, the way the light hits the ice. My wife made tea and we sat together, the three of us. Quiet evening. Mikkel noticed it first. He said, Papa, the sky. I looked out and the whole thing had turned orange. Not like a sunset, not like the northern lights. Orange like something was burning behind the clouds. It was bright enough to cast shadows in the house. My wife grabbed Mikkel's hand. Nobody said anything. It lasted maybe ten minutes. Then it faded, slowly, like someone turning down a lamp. We stood there in the dark, not sure what we had seen. without sunrise, I cannot imagine that - Erik' Thirty minutes later, we heard the helicopters. American military, I am certain of it. Four of them, flying low over the water toward the ice sheet. We have the Danish military here sometimes, but these were different. Larger. Louder. They flew in formation, like they knew exactly where they were going. My wife said we should go to bed. Pretend it did not happen. But I could not sleep.
The next morning, Mikkel and I walked out toward the ice. I do not know why. Something was pulling me there. He wanted to come, and I let him. We found it about two kilometers from the house, half-buried in the snow. A piece of metal, maybe the size of my hand. Thin, like foil, but heavier than it looked. Silver, but when the light hit it, there were colors inside. Like oil on water. Mikkel picked it up and bent it in half. I told him to be careful. But then he let go and the metal, it just, it straightened itself out. Slowly. Like it was remembering what shape it was supposed to be. We bent it again. Same thing. We twisted it, creased it, folded it three times over. Every time, it would slowly return to flat. I have never seen anything like it. Not before, not since. The metal was warm to the touch, even in the cold.
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