by Dan Bar-el
Boo cut him off with another disapproving look. And before Duane could say a further word, Boo tilted her head to the side, to direct his attention to a chair at one end of the reflective pond. Boo nudged her head toward it, encouraging Duane to sit. This time Duane completely understood and obeyed. He walked over to the chair and sat.
On the far side of the pond, Boo stood facing him, still and relaxed. She took a slow, deep breath, and then softly and delicately, Boo positioned herself into a pose. She raised a front hoof and held it out before her as if she were cradling something, and by the expression on her face, by her concentration as she looked at it, it was made clear to Duane that this something was very precious.
Then Boo began to dance.
I will remind you readers and listeners that Duane had not had the privilege of seeing Boo dance priorly, having not been part of the group that spied on her. But what the others witnessed was a private dance that Boo did for herself. It was not meant to be seen. The dance that Duane was now watching was quite the opposite. It was a gift given to him from Boo. It was a dance that told the story of friendship.
As she spun and rolled and twisted, as she stretched and vaulted and soared, as she collapsed and swelled and caved and blossomed, the invisible, precious something that Boo created in front of Duane at the start always stayed close to her, protected. Boo passed it from one hoof to the other; she balanced it on the curve of her back or between the forks of her antlers. Duane saw it throughout the dance. He never took his eyes off the invisible, precious something. His heart was invested in its safety. How is that possible? he wondered. Dancing was a whole new language for Duane. He didn’t think he should be able to understand it, and yet he did. Through Boo’s perfect and precise movements, through the energy that flowed in and out of her body, through her strength and speed and lightness, he began to read the wordless story she was telling him. And Duane understood too that he was in this tale, and it delighted him. He stared and smiled as Boo became him, in his happy, lumbering walk, in his kind and gentle expression. Boo became Handsome, in his stillness and his frowns, in his self-importance and in his sense of honor. At times the dance was comical, provoking Duane to laugh in recognition. At other times, the dance was poignant in expressing all that can never be properly said in just words about friendship, about the wide chasm of difference and misunderstanding between souls, and about what a miracle it is when two can manage to span such distance. At the conclusion of Boo’s performance, when the tale was all but told and the kaleidoscope of feelings were given each their due, Boo returned her focus to the invisible, imaginary yet precious something that she delicately held throughout her dance. She lifted it into the air, and finally set it free. Duane followed Boo’s gaze skyward, and together they watched it go.
Duane sighed. This was what he had needed. Boo did what the Balancing Show was supposed to do before it was thrown out of balance by Handsome’s departure. She made everything okay again, at least for Duane.
And so Boo moved in to the field previously occupied by Handsome. It wasn’t something she needed to do, as the place she had was more than adequate for her privacy needs. I suppose she may have done it for Duane’s sake, to help fill the void left by his absent friend. Or she may have done it for her own sake, to not be quite so isolated and to take the risk of feeling foolish or embarrassed now and then, but also to take the risk of being accepted as well. And who’s to say that perhaps she didn’t do it for both their sakes, because isn’t that also possible?
For Duane, the arrangement was wonderful. Boo wasn’t a replacement for Handsome, because no true friend can be replaced by another. For Duane, it was the beginning of a new friendship, one that had not really been explored yet, that had a different shape and rhythm than all his other friendships. Boo and Duane did not speak much. When they shared each other’s company, it was often done silently. Questions were posed with small gestures: a lifted bowl, for example—would you like to join me for some breakfast berries? Replies were given the same way: a small smile and slow blink—thank you, I’d like that. Conversation was equally sparse, a deep, content breath—summer is coming. A rotation of an ear and a playful raise of a brow—Magic is coming.
As for the weasel, he remained among Duane and his friends, but he was ignored for the most part. Duane didn’t go to the effort of naming him. He didn’t feel it would serve any purpose to bring the weasel into focus in that way. Left alone, the weasel wasn’t too much of a bother. After all, he was only interested in crumbs, whether it was food or friendship. Should the weasel ever come to a decision that crumbs were no longer enough, Duane would be most happy to invite him to his table for a proper meal.
* * *
Many months later, a letter arrived. Duane found it on the ground at the entrance of his cave. How it got there or who delivered it, I cannot say. But who the letter was from was made clear as soon as Duane picked it up.
To: Duane & Company
From: Handsome the musk ox, Esquire
The words were written on the envelope with the same flourished handwriting that defined all of his correspondence, whether it be invitations for afternoon tea or letters of complaint to the narrator for unflattering descriptions of musk oxen.
Duane did not open it right away. His reading skills had improved considerably under C.C.’s tutelage, so he understood from the envelope that the letter was meant for everyone. He made the rounds and announced the news. Soon everyone was gathered at his cave, waiting for Duane to start in.
Dear Duane,
I trust that you have assembled all our friends for the reading of my letter. If you haven’t, then do so at once. A letter begins to lose its oomph by the third or fourth retelling. I do not wish my eloquent sentiments and observations to be recited in a tired, bored voice.
As of writing this, I am hard at work leading my herd. It is tedious business, I assure you. Deciding upon where to graze or dine for a large group is maddening. One musk ox might have allergies, another is simply picky, and the bickering is never-ending. Eventually one simply must put their hoof down and say enough is enough.
As for the general quality of grooming among the members, I can summarize it in just one word: appalling. My brother has allowed standards to plummet. It’s as if they’ve never heard of a nose-hair trimmer before. I’ve initiated several countermeasures, including a mandatory lecture series cleverly entitled A Brushup on Brushes, as well as a drop-in clinic for one-on-one consultations. Attendance, so far, has been sparse.
On a different note, it is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I confess that I must agree with the sentiment. There is not a night that goes by that I do not think of all of you, heave a heavy sigh, but wish only the best. If I could have but…
Apologies. My letter-writing was just interrupted by my brother. I suddenly have good news to share. I will be returning after all, in several months’ time. My brother informs me that he is recovering much more quickly than anticipated and will soon resume his rightful position. He looks in terrible shape, if you ask me, but when I pointed that out, he also added that the herd finds me somewhat annoying. I don’t know what my small-minded relatives have to grumble about, but if that’s their verdict, then I shall not complain.
So there you have it. I shall be once again in the Very, Very Far North! But I must warn you that leadership may have changed me. Upon my return, you might encounter a musk ox less casual and carefree than the one who left.
Your dear, dear friend, always,
Handsome the musk ox, Esquire
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My journey to the Very, Very Far North would not be possible without the navigation skills of three important people. I wish to thank my editor, Reka Simonsen; my agent, Hilary McMahon; and my always-first reader, Dominique.
More from this Series
The Very, Very Far North
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
DAN BAR-EL is an award-winning children’s author of picture books, midd
le-grade novels, and graphic novels that include Audrey (cow) and Not Your Typical Dragon. For many years, Dan has been working with children ages three to thirteen as a schoolage childcare provider, a preschool teacher, a creative drama teacher, and a creative writing teacher. Dan lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, with artist and goldsmith Dominique Bréchault, and Sasha, the most adorable cat in the known universe. Visit him at danbarel.com.
KELLY POUSETTE is an illustrator and storyteller, originally from the west coast of British Columbia. She loves to create things, especially pictures. Her work has been featured in the French edition of the HuffPost, the Brown Paper Bag blog, and Brightness magazine. She currently resides in northern British Columbia with her husband and very large dog, Clovis. Follow her on Instagram at @kpousetteillustration.
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Dan-Bar-el
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Kelly-Pousette
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Simon & Schuster, New York
ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Dan Bar-el
Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Kelly Pousette
Title calligraphy by Karyn Lee
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Book design by Lauren Rille and Karyn Lee.
The illustrations for this book were rendered in charcoal and digital.
Jacket design by Karyn Lee
Title calligraphy by Karyn Lee
Jacket illustrations copyright © 2020 by Kelly Pousette
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Bar-el, Dan, author. | Pousette, Kelly, illustrator.
Title: Just beyond the very, very far north / Dan Bar-el; illustrations by Kelly Pousette.
Description: First edition. | New York City: Atheneum Books for Young Readers, [2020] | Audience: Ages 8–12. | Audience: Grades 4–6. |
Summary: Duane the polar bear and the other animals of the Very, Very Far North find their friendships deepening as they are challenged by the arrival of a contentious weasel and an unexpected departure.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019043788 | ISBN 9781534433441 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781534433465 (eBook)
Subjects: CYAC: Polar bear—Fiction. | Bears—Fiction. | Animals—Arctic regions—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Arctic regions—Fiction. | Humorous stories.
Classification: LCC PZ7.B250315 Jus 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019043788
