Published January 1, 2015. Updated January 17, 2015.
"Suddenly"
When we talk about mortality we are talking about our children.
I just said that, but what does it mean?
All right, of course I can track it, of course you can track it, another way of acknowledging that our children are hostages to fortune, but when we talk about our children what are we saying? Are we saying what it meant to us to have them? What it meant to us not to have them? What it meant to let them go? Are we talking about the enigma of pledging ourselves to protect the unprotectable? About the whole puzzle of being a parent?
~ Joan Didion, Blue Nights
In the Water Tribes, no one with a reasonable sense of self-preservation goes outside during a blizzard. Even a waterbender can get lost in the distances between houses. So Tonraq and Senna have good reason to be startled when they hear someone bang on their door.
Thinking it might be someone who needs help, the two of them leave Korra in the bedroom and go together to the front door. Senna opens the door while Tonraq holds the lantern in the threshold. A man stands outside, and they can make out the white and indigo pattern of his robes.
"The White Lotus!" Senna's gasp is more excited than surprised.
"Are you Tonraq and Senna?" the man asks loudly over the wind's bellowing.
"Yes—come in, quickly." Tonraq answers. They step back and let the man enter their igloo. Senna closes the door securely against the cold wind.
"Welcome" she says, turning back to the Lotus.
"You chose an awful night to arrive," Tonraq remarks sympathetically.
"It's been a long journey," the man answers. "After coming this far, I didn't want to delay any longer."
"Is there no one else coming?"
"I was the only one that could be spared. Many claims have been made, in both of the Water Tribes. So far none have been fruitful."
Tonraq and Senna exchange glances that turn into smiles. "Then you should be happy to know your search has come to an end," Senna says, already looking quite satisfied.
"You seem quite confident," the Lotus says. "Why is that?"
"Mom? Who is it?" Korra enters from the bedroom. The Lotus stares at the slightly chubby four-year-old.
"What did you say your name was?" Tonraq asks him.
He straightens up and says, "I didn't. It's Lee."
"Korra, this is Lee. He's part of the White Lotus. You remember what we told you about them?"
Her eyes light up—they are pale blue, like the sky on a cloudless day. But instead of smiling, her expression becomes hard and ferocious. She strikes a pose that somewhat resembles a warrior's stance: legs apart, knees bent, clenched fist raised in the air. "I'm the Avatar! You gotta deal with it!" She leaps forward into the room, punching her fists, and small bursts of flame come out of them; then she stops her foot against the ground, and a low pedestal of earth rises; when she waves her hand, the melted snow dripping around the Lotus rises and floats in the air.
The man who calls himself Lee gapes at the child. "She can already do this much?" he says to the girl's parents.
"I can do a lot more!" Korra says, and starts to spin.
"That's not necessary," Lee says, causing her to stop with a pout. "What I mean is—more than her native element?"
"She's bent everything except for air," Senna says, "but I don't think there can be any doubt."
"Extraordinary. Most Avatars don't discover their range of abilities until after they've been told their identity. This is a highly unusual situation, even for the Avatar." Lee cups his chin in his hand, musing aloud. "This is going to complicate things … quite significantly."
"Why is that?" Tonraq asks, his brow furrowed at the man.
Lee is silent for a long moment, ostensibly collecting his thoughts, discerning how to explain. "If she can already tap into these physical abilities, it's possible she could tap into her spiritual abilities as well—entering the spirit world, for instance, or activating the Avatar State. Do you know what that means?"
"We know what the spirit world and the Avatar State are," Tonraq answers evenly. "But I'm not sure I follow your meaning."
"Bending is a liability for any child. If not trained and taught to control their ability, benders can cause damage to themselves and those around them. For someone who can bend four elements, it's even more imperative that he or she achieves mastery over them. Not to mention, if she were to enter the Avatar State at such a young age—"
"Is that likely?" For the first time, Senna looks alarmed.
"It is only a theory, based on how far ahead she already is."
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Tonraq asks.
"The White Lotus always planned to train the Avatar, as Avatar Aang asked them to do. But we will have to expedite that process." Lee gazes at the child, who is now sitting on the floor and playing with chunks of earth bent from the floor. Then he looks back at her parents. "For now, I think I ought to take her to meet the rest of the White Lotus."
"Take her? Take her where?" Senna demands.
"To an outpost—I can't tell you the location unless you agree that she may go. The old masters will convene and discuss what is to be done, but they will want proof of who she is. She'll have to bend for them as well."
"Let the old masters come here if they're so concerned," Tonraq says gruffly.
"We have members all over the world; they won't want to convene so far out. Surely you must understand, the Avatar's training is the world's priority."
"That's unacceptable," Tonraq says, getting angry now.
"She's our daughter," Senna pleads, gentle but insistent. "You can't confiscate her like a national treasure."
The Lotus smiles ever so slightly. "If anything she is an international treasure."
"You want to joke—about—" The dizziness comes suddenly, very hard, like the aftereffects of a blow to the head, but without the shocking impact of the blow itself. Both Senna and Tonraq fall to their knees, clutching their heads between their hands. It takes ten seconds for both of them to lose consciousness; but they hear most of what the man says.
"You must understand. Your child is going to do great things for the world. But she cannot do them here. You cannot help her realize her potential. But I can."
Tonraq wakes first, and the first thing he sees is his wife lying next to him, facedown on the floor. "Senna!" He pushes himself onto his hands and knees, and turns her over.
She does not seem to be visibly injured. She grunts when he shakes her awake, then blinks her eyes open, focusing. "What hap—where's Korra?"
"Korra!" Tonraq calls out her name, getting to his feet and looking into the bedroom.
They search for her, trying to remember—was she still in the room when they argued with the stranger? Did she hear them talking about her future? Did she hide? What happened after they blacked out? How, and why, did they black out?
When they have combed every inch of the igloo—including hiding spots under the beds and piles of furs—Tonraq opens the door to look outside. Now he knows why the intruder chose a foul-weathered night to come. They can see the light of other buildings, but any tracks that were left are gone.
"KORRAAAA!" He yells at the top of his lungs, and hopes that the wind can blow the sound to her. He circles their igloo but finds neither the man nor his child.
When he steps back inside, Senna is sobbing. "She's gone."
"No." Tonraq's hand is hard on her shoulder, but his voice is even harder. "We'll find her. We'll see her again. Come on—the healers will know who to talk to."
Holding hands, and still calling out their daughter's name, they trek through the snow to the home of another Avatar's family. Tonraq bangs on the door. "Kya! Open up! Open—"
Avatar Aang's middle-aged daughter answers, recognizes them, and immediately senses something is wrong. "What is it?"
"Our daughter's gone—"
"Stolen—"
"It was a man—"
"Disguised as a member of the White Lotus—"
"Please, help us."
Kya lets them in and calls for her mother, Katara. They do their best to calm Senna and Tonraq down enough to tell the story clearly. They are baffled by the sudden unconsciousness they describe, and look them over in the medicine room to see if they were hit or injected with anything, but the intruder left no discernible mark on either of them.
"You're sure you didn't feel anything?" Kya repeats. "Not even a pinch or a sting? Or trouble breathing?"
Husband and wife both shake their heads.
"Was he a bender?" Katara asks.
"He didn't say," Senna says gloomily.
Tonraq adds, "The fact that he got to our igloo in the storm made me think he might be a waterbender."
Katara makes a "Hm" sound, looking darkly pensive. "What are you thinking, Mom?" Kya asks.
"There's bloodbending." The other three gape as Katara explains solemnly, "Years ago, in Republic City, there was an incident where a bloodbender knocked out a room full of people, including Aang, Sokka, and Toph Beifong. I think he cut off the flow of blood to their brains, causing unconsciousness."
Tonraq stares at her. "I've heard of bloodbending, but I thought it could only be done under a full moon." Though the moon cannot be seen through the cloud cover, he knows it is only a quarter moon now.
"We once thought so too, until that incident proved us wrong. It takes a waterbender of nearly unheard-of power." But Katara shrugs and concludes, "It's just a theory."
"Well, however he did it," Kya says, moving on from the barely-believable possibility, "we need to organize a search. I'll go alert Sokka and the police." She turns back to Korra's parents. "If you have any pictures of Korra, they could help the search parties." And if they cannot locate Korra, they can reproduce her picture in the newspapers, so most people in the world will be able to recognize her if she is among them.
Katara makes more suggestions as the four of them walk to the young couple's house. "When Fire Lord Zuko needed to find someone specific, he hired a shirshu trainer."
"Right, that would work, because the South Pole is full of shirshus," Kya says, her sarcasm too annoyed to be humorous; she almost sounds like her uncle.
"There are still some in the Earth Kingdom. If you have any items with Korra's scent on it, they might be able to find her, whatever the distance between you."
"But hopefully we'll find her before they leave the Tribe," Kya assures the parents as they reach the igloo.
Before, Tonraq and Senna only looked around enough to search for Korra. But now they can see the place and their things, not just the empty space. Specifically, they see that most of Korra's possessions are gone―her toys, her coat, changes of clothes.
"He took everything of hers," Senna realizes, aghast.
"What about pictures?" Kya insists, grasping for any kind of lead.
Tonraq goes to the bookshelf and pulls out their single photograph album. Pictures are few and far between for their family, and they carefully preserve the few that they have in this book. The women gather around as Tonraq flips through the pages, revealing a portrait from his and Senna's wedding day. Next should be their first picture with Korra, taken just days after she was born. There should be subsequent photographs from special occasions, like the Glacier Spirits Festival, Korra's favorite holiday.
The pages that held the family portraits are now blank. Only the pictures of Senna and Tonraq remain.
"He took her—out of the picture," Senna chokes. Tonraq can barely comprehend her words, whether they make sense or not. He sees, though, that Korra has been erased. Except for their memories, it is as if she was never there in the first place.
Noatak has never blocked a child's chi; he is not even certain they have the same physical response as adults. But for this plan to work, the Avatar must not be able to bend. From now on, he must take care to wake before she does, and cut off her ability as frequently as possible, without her knowing.
So after he returns to his motorboat in the harbor, he sets the girl down and jabs her arms and legs at the right points. Her body twitches with each blow, but she does not stir. His bloodbending put her, as well as her parents, soundly to sleep. It took weeks of practicing on antarctic mammals to be able to induce unconsciousness so quickly and smoothly without harming t.
Tonight was the second time he ever bent the blood of a human being.
Noatak felt no hesitance then, and he will not feel guilt now. He will do what he must. This is not the only way he could go about things, but it is the best way he can think of, and now that he has chosen this path and come this far, there is no turning back.
He stows the girl's personal effects and his White Lotus robes in a small storage compartment—he'll destroy them later, he cannot leave them as evidence—and leaves her in a bundle of blankets set up like a nest on the floor. In the hours before dawn, he is able to drive the boat over a hundred miles from the Southern Water Tribe harbor. He knows the search parties will begin soon, and word will spread to the real White Lotus as well as the leaders of the world. The two of them will have to stay under the radar for the rest of their lives, but especially for these next several days and weeks. Getting a head start now is the first and most crucial step.
He keeps glancing backwards at her, though she remains sleeping. Perhaps he did too good a job knocking her out. But her vital signs were all normal, so he does not worry.
The sun is rising when Korra turns over. Noatak kills the engine and waits while she wakes up. It takes longer than he expects. Finally, though, she blinks her eyes open and realizes she is not home.
"Mama?" Her voice is high with alarm.
"It's alright," Noatak says, kneeling down next to her. "Remember me? I came to your house before you fell asleep."
Korra looks to him for an explanation. "Where are we? Where's Mama?"
She will not forget about them for quite some time. She will not like this transition. But then again, no orphaned or disowned child does.
Noatak chooses his words carefully and uses a gentle tone. "Your mama and daddy had to go somewhere. They asked me to take care of you."
The child's face scrunches up like she's prepared to cry, but first she asks, "When they come back?"
He waits a moment, looks directly into her blue eyes, and speaks slowly so she can understand. "They aren't coming back. They said I could be your new daddy. But don't be sad. If you're a good girl for me, I'll be a good dad for you, okay?"
"No! I want my mom and dad! I wanna go home!"
He reaches out, thinking to hug her and hold her until she is consoled, but Korra swats his hand away. She gets to her feet, glaring at him, and punches her arms forward, shouting, "Bring them back!" It takes her a few punches to realize that nothing is coming out of her fists. She stares at them, then flexes her fingers, shocked. "I can't bend." She turns her head wildly, then goes to the side of the boat—Noatak is quick to follow her—and moves her arms in an attempted waterbending move. "I can't bend!" she cries.
"I'm sorry, Korra. You must have been dreaming about bending."
"No, I did it! I could bend three elements! I'm the Avatar!"
He tries to look and sound sympathetic, even as he stays firm. "I don't think so."
Korra's lip quivers, and she starts to sob. "B-but they said I was the Avatar! They said I was special!"
What stupid, infatuated parents. People like them are the reason why benders grow up to be so selfish and arrogant, and why the Avatar has always been so self-righteous.
"Korra, bending doesn't make you any more or less special than anyone."
She doesn't believe him, so he lets her cry it out, waiting for her sobs to subside. But she only stops long enough to take a deep breath and start wailing with renewed strength.
"You don't need bending," Noatak insists, his patience waning.
"YES I DO!" she screams at him.
"Why do you want to be a bender?"
She really looks at him then. "Bending's the coolest thing in the world! You can do anything with it! I've built castles with icebending and cooked with firebending and made toys out of earth. And you can fight with it!"
"Does it make you feel safe?"
"Sure. No one'd mess with the Avatar. If they did, I'd freeze 'em, or burn 'em, or bury—"
"That's enough!" His harsh tone actually shuts her up, if only for a moment. Before she can start crying again, he says, in a normal volume, "You don't need bending to feel safe. There are ways to defend yourself with out bending. And you don't need your old parents, either. I'm here for you. I'll be your dad."
"I don't want you! I want Dad and Mom!"
"You know … I don't have my parents either."
She folds her arms, unimpressed. "So? You're a grown-up."
"I mean I lost them when I was young." That gets her attention. Noatak continues, "I had a brother, too, but he's gone. I had to leave them because it wasn't a good home. And yours wasn't either, Korra. Your parents couldn't take care of you. But I can. I'm here for you. You and I can make a new home, together."
Home. It's a strange concept for both of them. Noatak has not had a real one since he left the North Pole—but even that place only felt like home during his early childhood.
He does not want to be like his father. He will not push her into a destiny she does not want. She will not be his soldier of revenge, or of his personal mission—unless, as he hopes, she chooses to become that.
Noatak reaches out again, and touches Korra's hair. She flinches, but she does not push him away. It's a start.
He unpacks some food from the storage compartment next to the locked one. "Are you hungry?"
"No."
"I have to keep steering for a while. I don't want you saying you're hungry later." He spreads out packages of fruit and fish and a few cups of instant noodles. But Korra folds her arms, glaring and pouting at the same time, and says, "'m not eating 'til you bring me home."
Insisting that she will never go home might provoke another tantrum, so Noatak shrugs indifferently and says, "We'll see how your stomach feels about that." He doubts her resolve will be very strong. On the other hand, he would rather not have her pass out from hunger or thirst. "Do you want something to drink, at least?"
She considers this, then says flatly, "Water."
He pours it into a cup and hands it to her. Korra looks intently at the water, almost glaring at it, and he knows she is trying to bend again. He almost feels bad for her, but not quite. He feels satisfied when she drinks the cup's contents.
He eats his own breakfast, drinks some energy-enhancing tea to keep himself awake for the rest of the journey, and then packs up the provisions. He pauses as he closes the compartment, and turns to look at her. "I need to ask you something important," he says.
"What?" Her voice is disinterested.
"Do you have a nickname?"
"No."
"Would you like a new name? You could choose one, or I could choose one for you."
She makes a face, then shakes her head. "I like Korra."
This could be a problem. People will be looking for a Water Tribe girl her age named Korra—not just in the weeks and months to come, but possibly for years. But perhaps he can think of a longer name for which Korra would be a plausible nickname.
He finds a child-sized life jacket on the shelf, and hands it to her. "As long as you're awake, you should put this on. We still have a long way to go over water. And no trying to look over the side."
She holds the life jacket uselessly—either she does not know what it is for, or she is not going to cooperate with anything he suggests. Noatak scowls and forces it over her head, even as she struggles and tries to hit his hands away. He is too strong for her. He tightens the jacket's straps, and forces her to sit again on the blankets. "No standing up, unless you want me to tie you down. Understand?" She looks angry and miserable, but she nods, the first sign of resignation. Then he returns to the front end of the boat, and checks the map and compass to make sure they are going in the correct direction, before restarting the engine and resuming the journey.
He keeps glancing back at her, but she does not stir, only tries to keep up the bad mood throughout the day. She periodically reasserts, in either a pleading moan or a demanding yelp, "I wanna go home."
"I think you'll like the place where we're going," he tells her after some time.
"Where is it?" Her voice is both curious and suspicious.
"It's a city—bigger than any in the Water Tribes."
"I don't like cities."
He does not know if this is true, or just another attempt to be contrary.
He hears her stomach growl around midday. "Are you sure you don't want some food?"
She does not answer. He decides to offer some again—he does not know much about children, but he doubts they can cope well with hunger. He leaves the package of fruit on the shelf, within her sight and reach, before returning to the wheel.
A short while later he hears the package being opened and the snapping and sucking of fruit being consumed. He wonders if this counts as their first compromise.
They stop at a port town, which amazes and confuses Korra. "This doesn't look like a city."
"This isn't where we're going to live. We're just here to buy fuel."
He jumps into the shallow water and pushes the motorboat onto the shore. He reaches out to lift Korra over, but she scuttles to the opposite side. "I'm not going."
"Don't make me drag you." What can convince her to come without fighting? "Do you have to go to the bathroom?"
Her stubborn frown fades, as she becomes uncertain. Noatak smiles and holds out his arms. "Come on."
Reluctantly she crosses over and lets him pick her up and set her down. She gasps when her bare feet land on the warm sand. "What is this?"
"It's sand—tiny little rocks."
"Rocks? Rocks are earth!"
"That's right."
She stomps her bare feet against the sand, but the landscape does not change. Her shoulders slump in disappointment. She must not know how rare sandbending is, if she thought she could do it. "Why can't I bend?" she asks, her frustration renewed.
"Some people just can't."
"But I could! I know I did!"
"I'm sure it must have been a dream." He spots a fish seller at a booth, and points it out. "Do you want to try a seaweed wrap?"
She turns it down. Novelties distract her, but she still wants to hold out on her anger. At least she is not crying or frightened. He would rather put up with this sullenness.
Noatak is relieved to learn that the child can go the bathroom without assistance—potty training is not something he has the patience for. What is more difficult is steering Korra away from the other boatmen, who she tries to ask for passage to the South Pole. He scoops her up and brings her back to the boat before they can start to take her seriously. Fortunately, no one gives either of them suspicious looks. Perhaps word of the Avatar's disappearance has not spread far yet.
It is almost evening when they come in sight of the United Republic capital. "We're almost there," Noatak says over his shoulder. "If you look now, you can see the city."
She gets to her feet and sees the same things he does: the mountains, the buildings, the memorial, the island, the bridges. "Whoa."
"Beautiful, isn't it?" He does not truly find it so, but he wants to make it seem appealing to her.
"Who's that?" She points to the giant green-gray statue guarding the bay.
Noatak hides his uneasiness behind a casual answer. "A man named Aang."
"What did he do?"
"Well, the statue is here because he helped build this city."
Korra tilts her head up to study Aang's green face as they pass below the statue. Noatak hopes, almost prays, that she cannot feel or know anything intuitively about the old Avatar.
He steers the boat to the docks, and pays the fee to leave it there. He was planning to sell it, but maybe it would be good to keep, in case they ever need to leave the city quickly. He stands on the dock and holds out his arms to help Korra over the side. "Come on."
Once again, she stands defiant, trying to stare him down.
"Please … I know it's a big place, and all of this is a big change … but it can be a good one, if you want. You have to give it a chance. And give me a chance."
Maybe this talk of change and acceptance is going over her head, because she does not budge.
Noatak makes a noise between a sigh and a scowl. "Look, kid, your options are either stay out here and sleep on the boat in the cold, or come see what the city is like. There's an apartment waiting for us. You'll like it."
She folds her arms over the life jacket and sits down. "I'll stay here."
"I was joking. They won't let you sleep in a boat."
"Why not?"
"You could freeze, or someone could—" Can she even grasp the concept of stranger danger? How can he explain it when he is still a stranger to her? If anything she is being smart by not going along with what he says.
He has only one good reason for trying to negotiate with her: to avoid making a scene that others might notice and report.
He gets in the boat again, and she moves to avoid him, but he does not go toward her. He picks up the blankets and carries them as he steps back onto the pier. "I hope it's not too cold tonight. And there's no food left, so you'll have to find some. And I don't know where the nearest bathroom is. Well, I guess I won't see you again, so good bye, and good luck."
He starts to walk away, slowly, leisurely folding the blankets. He smiles, waiting, sure she will call out—
There is a sound like metal being kicked, and then a yelp, a wooden thud, and a splash.
Noatak pivots, biting back the girl's name, swears, and runs down the pier, dropping the blankets. Korra bobs up in the narrow space between the boat and the pier; she is conscious but choking on the water. The life jacket is so bulky she can barely move, but it keeps her on the surface while Noatak reaches down and pulls her up. He brings her to her knees so she can cough and spit out the water.
"What did you do that for?"
"I didn't mean to fall," she says crossly. "I was trying to climb over like you did."
"Were you going to follow me?"
"No. I just wanted to get off."
Did she expect to find her way around the city by herself? Noatak shakes his head, removes the life jacket—thank the spirits for safety measures, he will have to remember those from now on—and wraps the dry blanket around her before picking her up. She does not fight him.
Korra stares at the scenes that they pass—the streets, cars, trolleys, rickshaws, motorcycles, pedestrians, buildings, street lamps. She may have seen such things in the urban areas of the Southern Water Tribe, but she has never seen them in such overwhelming numbers. Everything seems brown or gray, dark or nondescript colors, except for some brighter signs and lights.
Rather than take the trolley, where people would be more likely to see and ask about the wet toddler, Noatak walks to the apartment building on foot, fighting his exhaustion. Another hour or two and he'll be able to rest.
He sets Korra down on the sidewalk in front of the building. "This is where we're going to live."
She steps back and gapes up at the building, which must be like a skyscraper to a small rural child. "This is our house?"
"Not exactly. Other people live here, but we'll have an apartment with a few rooms just for us."
Everything is ready when they check in with the porter. Noatak's close associate, who he hopes to make his lieutenant, prepared their paperwork and made the living arrangements. He finds the package with their keys and paperwork. He has decided to put the name Anakorra on her papers, and tell people that Korra is her nickname.
Their apartment is only a little bigger than her old igloo. There is a kitchen area with a table and an icebox, a living area with a sofa and a radio, two small bedrooms, and a bathroom. Korra takes it in wordlessly, with a mixture of awe and apprehension. Noatak has not lived here before, so there are no personal touches to be seen. It must seem barren to her.
"Want to see the roof? Anyone can go up there."
"Sure!"
Korra is quick on the stairs, especially for someone who has rarely, if ever, used stairs. They finally go through the door onto the roof. Noatak watches as Korra runs around, exploring every corner. The roof's perimeter is surrounded by a low wall; he lifts her up so she can look over it.
Korra gasps at the view. "We're so high!"
"Do you like it?"
It is then that he sees her smile for the first time. "Yeah. It's cool."
They eat the last of his packed food on the roof. Tomorrow they will go shopping for proper groceries, and new clothes for her. For tonight, he is eager to put her to bed, so he can finally catch up on sleep after nearly thirty-six hours awake. He is sure they both need baths, but he decides to put them off until tomorrow.
He makes Korra go to the bathroom before she climbs into her bed. She asks that the shades be left open, so she can see the moon and stars.
"Is there anything else you need? Water? Another blanket?"
She considers him. "Can you sing to me?"
"No."
"Please?"
"Will you go to sleep if I do?"
"Yes."
"Do you promise?"
"Yes."
He sits on the edge of the bed. "Very well. What … songs do you like?"
"Mama sings 'Leaves from the Vine.'"
The title stirs something in his memory; he thinks he remembers it, an old victory song from the time of the Hundred Year War. "I don't remember the words."
"Leaves from the vine, falling so slow …"
The words come back as she says them, and he tries to sing along, but she smacks his hand and scolds, "No, I'll sing it, then you!" Feisty, demanding child. He waits, and when she has finished she looks at him expectantly.
"Can't you sing yourself to sleep?"
"You do it!"
Noatak obliges, and does not think his voice is well suited for singing, but Korra closes her eyes and relaxes into her pillow. When he comes to the end, she says without opening her eyes, "Again." He stretches out the tempo, and by the end of the third encore she is asleep, or close to it.
He thinks he knows what is supposed to come next—though, truthfully, he cannot remember the last time he gave or received a kiss. It must have been to or from his mother, before he left home.
He leans over and presses his lips to her cheek for a second, maybe two, before pulling away. It is supposed to be a sign of love and affection. He does not feel that for her, but in order for this living arrangement to work, he knows he will have to at least act as though he does; then, perhaps, one day he will.
The last thing Noatak does before retiring is set up the telephone and call one of his associates, who will in turn contact a few others. He tells them where to find the boat, and instructs them to destroy the contents of the storage compartment. Not throw away, not bury or dump in the ocean, but destroy. For example, burning the robes, pictures, toys, and other items would suffice nicely.
Music: "Suddenly" from the 2012 film version of Les Misérables. "Leaves from the Vine" also correlates to some plot and character development over the course of this narrative.