“Imaru, do you know how old I am today? Well! I’m five years and two months. I don’t remember how many days anymore, but that’s okay. What matters is the months and the years. Do you know that in ten months I’ll be all grownup?”
“Indeed I do. But aren’t you already all grownup? Look at your jacket. It’s a grownup’s jacket!”
“Yes, but it’s not mine. I took it from my mommy. I wanted to see if it fit me.”
“And what do you think? It fits you well, doesn’t it?”
“Yes! But the sleeves are long. I’ve got to cut them, like this. They will be shorter and people will think the jacket’s mine.”
“Yes, but your mom won’t be happy if you cut her jacket's sleeves.”
Barbara is curious, she asks questions nonstop, she’s sad if she doesn’t get an answer in return, questions are sacred, you must know and respond correctly. She pets the animals to feel the texture of the fur, presses the tips of her fingers further in to feel the skeleton, she presses slowly, not to hurt the animal but simply to understand how the creature is made. She wants to understand a dog’s world, a bird’s world, why so much saliva, why a beak, why does the bird peck, why does the dog bite. She corners the animal, brushes against it, wants to understand its physique, its language. She tests their limits. Like she did with her dad’s dogs. She wept over the dogs who died, she didn’t believe it, imagined scenarios where—she explained—they were living elsewhere. She sought absolute proof of their physical death.
“I have a new game, Imaru,” she says. “Do you want to see it?”
“Yes, of course. Show me.”
“It’s a bone bracelet. There are hare bones, fox bones, and auk bones. You have to decide which kinds are which.”
“Oh! This is hard! Hmm, wait, um! The smallest ones are auk bones, right? The biggest ones, those are fox bones, and the rest hare bones?”
“Oh! You guessed them all! You’re very good. Mommy told me that it was hard to guess which ones were auk bones and which ones were hare bones. She’s the one who gave them to me.”
“Is that right! But I wasn’t sure!”
“Ok, well, now, I’m going to see if Daddy can tell the difference too.”
“You go! I bet he won’t be able to tell!”
Imaru decides to scale the rock, he wants to relive that feeling that hunting ensures him, to stretch the memory, he’s eager to show his bow to Ana, to teach her how to use it, how to win the bird’s heart. He searches the horizon: a thin violet-and-orange band lines the base of the sky, the pastel colours are rich, beautiful, the landscape grips his heart. A riveting sight that he alone attends, powerless, tugged in different directions by fatigue, euphoria, and anxiety. As soon as Ana arrives, the anguish will dissipate, he will no longer need to count the hours, the days that separate them, he won’t imagine there’s been a crazy car accident. He wishes Ana were with the children in the tent while he sits awake, gazing over this fauna, this flora, this immensity. From high up on the rock, he can see the little conglomeration of white tents very well, the fire that is now only a mass of glowing embers, the sleeping dogs.
He remains like that for a moment, his arms relaxed, contemplating the tents and the sky, he senses a threat in the air, something cold in the wind, a foul breeze. He is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not see Barbara trying to join him at the rock’s peak.
He yells, “Barbara! Go back down! It’s very dangerous!”
But the little girl doesn’t listen, she doesn’t seem to hear him, she clambers on, although the little thing has hardly climbed two metres up, Imaru panics when he sees her climbing with her dress and hair flitting in the wind. Barbara climbs slowly and is a little timid, she feels the rocks as though to assure herself that they are safe. The hem of her dress gets caught between two sharp rocks and the rock that she clutches crumbles away, Imaru dashes down, his heart pounding when he sees the little girl crying, he too risks finishing his race with a perilous fall, his boots crunch against the rocks, dust rises in short-lived clouds along his way.
Imaru climbs down, blood pounding in his temples, he’s frightened for the child. Her whimpers are getting louder and louder, her face is red, puffy.
He catches her up in his arms, scolds her a bit.
“You must never, never climb the rock alone like that. Do you understand me?”
“But, but …” the child says, sniffling, “I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to show you that I’m all grownup now.” She whimpers a little, her eyes reddened by tears.
They reach the bottom, he holds her tightly in his arms, he feels her heart beating hard in her chest. He holds her a long time. Fear, undoubtedly. The hem of her dress is completely torn, he kneels, examines the dress a little. Barbara plugs her thumb into her mouth, she plays with her hair; with the other hand, she wipes a final tear. Imaru suddenly notices that she seems very uneasy.
Joseph is by the fire, his gaze lost in space, he smokes a cigarette, his fingers yellowed by nicotine, he reeks of tobacco. When Joseph is troubled, he smokes, he says nothing. He looks at Imaru with a questioning air.
“You don’t look so good, my friend; not enough sleep?”
“Could be. I don’t really know. I think it’s these days that never end. I won’t sleep much until Ana’s here and safe in my tent and sleeping like a baby.”
“Just wait, my friend! You’ve got to get a hold of yourself a bit, especially with the bad weather coming. We won’t be able to go hunting for two, three days.”
“That’s exactly what I’m scared of. I should have gone and gotten Ana myself at the airport; that way, she would be with me.”
“We’re all really looking forward to meeting your Ana. Don’t worry. You couldn’t have known that the weather would be crappy.”
Joseph lights another cigarette, without paying attention to the hive beginning to buzz around him. He doesn’t have any intention of cocooning himself in his tent before the first drops of rain. He picks up on polishing the bones he had set down beside him.
“You think that business will be good this year?”
“Oh! What do I know! To tell you the truth, it doesn’t matter to me. I keep myself entertained like this. I while away the time. I’m not like you, waiting for a pretty little woman. So, I do my best to keep myself busy. Last year wasn’t a very good year. The folks from Qaanaaq are having a hard time selling their bloody bones. The Europeans want to outlaw seal hunting. They don’t understand that, for us, it’s more than just traditional art; it’s what feeds us, clothes us. I would like to see them gulp down one meal a day!
A gentle voice wakes Imaru, the troubling dream, a voice is bringing him back to reality. Above Imaru is Ana’s surprised but sweet face, her hair in disarray, her tremendous smile; she is overjoyed. The embrace is long, strewn with words, so heavy but barely audible. Imaru and Ana kiss for a long time. Their shadows casting a theatrical dance, staccatos, on the tent’s canvas. The sun runs through their incongruous movements, Ana brought the sunshine with her, that moment of embrace. Imaru slowly strokes his friend’s long strands of jade. He loves this soft, repetitive movement, soothing, the net’s antithesis, but the same sensation of fullness. He feels chosen, prized among all these men, he’s the one that Ana has decided to love. They remain there for an hour, two hours, bodies interlaced, shielded from the world, from the black sky.
Barbara bursts into the tent, she announces, in her clarion voice, that a party is to be held tonight in the newcomer’s honour.
Imaru carries these moments with finesse, mobilizing all his expertise to ensure Ana gets the full experience of the sacred hunt. A thin mist folds around them, the birds are still paying their visits, the hunters can hear the birds’ habitual ruckus; Joseph barely makes progress, the slope veers sharply, the rocks crumble, the terrain is steep, the rocks are still slippery from the rain. They must climb very, very slowly in order not to hurt themselves, in order not to scare off the birds, Imaru keeps right by Ana’s side a
nd helps her climb. Joseph is a few metres ahead of them even though the rock is very wet. Joseph seems to have done this all his life and moves on without looking behind or beside, his net bounces about his back. The sand in the wind blinds him, but a few metres more and he will be at the peak.
Ana is patient, she progresses slowly, she knows that one wrong move could cause the whole colony to migrate elsewhere. She takes Imaru’s hand, he doesn’t dare speak, to catch a whirlwind of birds they must not make the slightest sound. An immense spiral, thousands of web-footed creatures take possession of the sky, honouring her with their aggressive flight. The three companions double over beneath the weight of their sniggering, the deadly chirping. Ana closes her eyes, the cries of the birds and the fresh air are signs of the living; she daydreams, she hoped for this moment, sharing it with Imaru.
The three hunters crouch, wait until their movements will no longer be perceptible; they will then spring into the air. Joseph watches the birds, watches their flight, he studies their erratic trajectories, he doesn’t lower his eyes, he looks at everything. His net rends the air, the birds are caught in the net, he presses his fingers against the heart of the bird, eyes closing, he pulls the trigger. He effortlessly makes his way, around the other side of the rock, there are fewer birds but they are easier to snag. One bird latches on to his shock of hair, won’t let go, Joseph delivers a backhanded blow to the bird, but the bird pecks at his palm, yanks his hair, plagues him.
Joseph gets frustrated, curses, and tries to drive the bird away with another backhanded blow, but the winged creature bites his hand. He whacks it with his net, the bird flaps against his head all the more furiously, like a bullet, it charges the enemy at full speed. Joseph loses his footing, some rocks tumble down, the ground’s uneven, he’s too close to the edge, he trips and plummets a good fifteen metres down, the dive lasts a matter of seconds and the cry of birds covers up the sound, Joseph’s body is scraped, crushed. Imaru and Ana continue their saraband, don’t hear Joseph’s screams of terror at all, they send their nets flying, whirling them over their heads.
Ulu, the Woman’s Knife
Ana sharpens her knives, a matter of survival, a colourless matter of habit too.
She mentally traces the contours of a narwhal caught between two glaciers, a blessed catch, a reserve. She hopes for this life lodged between the waters, a little for the children, the family, for herself, not much for the animal. She envisions all that this flesh would furnish for her: several weeks of food and finally an end to the struggle and expeditions, an end to the growing frustration experienced by the hunter who returns empty-handed. No gurgling concert from the children’s stomachs. The children who no longer venture, after some time, to question their mother about the obvious lack of food. They too wait. Sometimes, they’re the ones who set her thinking straight again: in the end, we will eat sooner or later.
Ana polishes her ulu, for tailoring, adding the finishing touches to the meat, death’s passage into the plate. My role as an artisan is a time of fulfillment, I want to be something other than this mother who feeds, I want to be the mother who no longer fears winter or hunger. Inside, Ana muses over the pieces, a puzzle of patience, the sun is her compass; a little more daylight left and the man will finally come home.
She tames the afternoon sunshine, her internal fracas. Almost as though the sun was bruising her. The glaciers, like ice cathedrals, tower at the centre of this immensity, a white desert, magnificent, but devastating during the storms. She is used to this land and its weaknesses, she has put years into taming the cold’s blade, into perfecting her role. Soon, the black, never-ending nights will stretch over the countryside, the stars alone will serve as guides, fragile asterisks of existence. The hunting has been very bad this year, the animals naturally migrating south. Usually, Ana is equipped with a well-stocked cache to tide the body over during the most difficult days, days like these. Everything is a matter of survival: sharpening the knives, eating, tilting the head to listen, hoping.
The children come home from school, hoods up, she can hardly make out their faces, thick scarves block their mouths, but she can see their eyes very well, laughing eyes, sparkling with marvel. They’ve barely entered the house and they’re already busying themselves with their usual occupations; Nikole is collecting all sorts of bits and pieces to fashion sculptures. She builds herself a world out of tiny pebbles, snippets of thread, animal teeth. This child, she lives in quite the place, muses Ana. She and her brother dwell in, probe, seal their universe. Ana picks up the toys scattered here and there, this is how children live, they sow, they gather, constantly, with every fibre of their beings. Senahu asks her if toys grow.
“Oh no, Senahu, you have to pick toys up, a little like lucky charms. They don’t grow in the ground.”
“So they’ll always be small? They won’t grow?”
“No, they won’t grow. You see, you’re alive, you grow. A toy isn’t alive, so it doesn’t grow.”
Ana lets the children know that she’s going out for a little while, and leaves. She takes in her surroundings, the nuances of grey, of blue, which rise over the plain of snow, confront every centimetre of ice. Over 4,500 years of history. We will stay here. The thought is both reassuring and terrifying, terrifying on days like today, but she can’t imagine living anywhere else, not in the forest or in the open desert. Although the icefield is like a ghostly desert, this is where I will die. This never-ending winter allows for a perfect cohabitation between humans and nature. She walks for several kilometres on this icefield, which grows thinner and thinner, she feels as though her body is abandoning her to take up the prowler’s rounds, the patroller’s rounds. Useless landmarks, the sun follows her everywhere. One hour, two hours, only snow to exhaust her patience. She inspects the mounds, searches for a snare, a trail in the vast whiteness, a strip of rope, hope. Not a single trace of hare, nothing in the landscape merges together, except snow smothered by snow. She yearns for Simon to come home, to end the fever that’s been burning her up for days, to be able to hold him, to keep him warm, to cut up the meat together, to eat, before the night falls. For a long night to knit them together in sleep.
Ana wakes up, a ferrous taste in her mouth, the nightmare’s freakish paralysis. She saw herself caught between two glaciers, gesticulating, breathless, her lungs parched. She was enormous, beached on the shore, her body slashed by seashells, her side wet with blood, she was the one they were butchering, stripping of flesh. It was her enormous carcass that they were carrying off. She must have screamed; Senahu is awake, sitting straight up in his bed, he stares at his mom.
“Mommy, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, love. Go back to sleep now.”
A long rock in mommy’s arms to calm the child, return him to his dreams. She doesn’t know what to do to comfort him anymore; to promise him that tomorrow, they will eat; she is tired of raising false hopes, tired of wearing each day out with her lies, of promising and promising. She must elude winter, believe, hope. A mother shouldn’t lie to spare her child. Tired of staring at the meat safe and her racks, nothing’s hanging there. So many days like this, blowing on the fire, making promises.
Ana thinks about the man she loves, about his resolute way of battling it out, about his way of inhabiting the cold, driving himself forward despite the wind’s stinging blows, his body unbending, proud like a monument. If only he’ll come home with something. She dismantles Nikole’s latest sculpture, rebuilds it listlessly, then begins again. How does the sweetheart manage to amaze us with these nothings? In a few hours, the children will come home, starving, pale. And still nothing. Shame. She doesn’t know what to do to keep her mind occupied anymore, cards, clothes, the smell of a soup that’s barely more than water, of coffee, fastidiously re-studying the most recent newspapers, already weeks old, the same gossip, the same fishermen, the same tragedies, that which the sea chose to keep for herself.
The sun continues to strafe the ghostly house. Ana wants to leave, mi
grate southward like the animals, find other blues, other dizzying sensations, to bask in the aroma of salt, the aroma of the churning sea. She wants to set off for another village, descend southward where the polar nights are less destructive, less alienating, where it is still possible to fish in the winter, bore a hole in the ice, haul the fish out, fillet it, share it. She relishes her memories. Not a one smacks of hunger. Hunting with her father, the cold which sunk its teeth into every centimetre of exposed skin. She remembers the fish, the scales that were so pretty, the rich bronze tints, the supple body; know what you fish, her father would say. She loved fishing, especially loved helping her father, giving him company throughout the cold snaps. Blessed moments, indelible moments. She remembers the first one, the Arctic char, delicious flesh, the light in her father’s eyes, once again how to prepare the meat, at that moment everything began. Draw the line taut, forge ties with the animal.
The day crashes down on the glaciers. A terrifying, black night. Ana shuffles the cards, invites the children to join her, they balk, they’re tired, exhausted. Nikole loses herself in her sculptures. Her world comes alive. Senahu watches her, tries to make a sculpture, he’s clumsy.
“You have to be patient; if not, your sculpture won’t be pretty.”
Ana watches the child, all woebegone, his tears, tiny diamonds poised on the tips of his eyelashes, he’s not used to it. Outside, the wind’s litany begins again. Playing patience, the North American solitaire. Ana and her daughter erect sculptures on the table, anything goes: wooden toys, pots, prayer books, fish hooks, useless tools, drooping dolls. They’ll join Senahu, three bodies, a den to deflect the cold, devise a fearless stratagem.
A Blanket Against Darkness Page 3
