by Ken Altabef
Tugtutsiak stood in the prow of his ship keeping the morning watch, squinting against the glare of the rising sun. During the short days and long nights of their shore-bound vigil, Alaana hadn’t yet seen him lay down to sleep.
“Hai!” called Tugtutsiak, his voice a deep rumble. “Hai!” It was the first time the headman had broken silence in three days and it was clear what he meant. Tugtutsiak had heard the breathing of the whale.
Alaana kicked her brother awake. She leaned out over the rim of the umiak and listened. Yes, she could hear it too, carrying across a great distance. A slow, protracted whoosh coupled with a deep, sonorous humming sound as air moved through enormous nasal passages. The sound was coming from the west and drawing closer. The breathing of the whale.
The three crews rushed to get ready. Before the launch, each crewman piously dipped his harpoon in the water in order to bring success to the hunter and the ship.
Alaana took up her paddle. Iggy and Avilik pushed the skinboat out from behind the ice block blind they had built on the shore. Tugtutsiak already had his boat in the water.
In his typically inept fashion, Talliituk launched badly. His umiak half full of water, his crew had to draw it up onto the shore again. His men struggled to turn the stem in toward land, pour out the water, and drag it back out to sea. The headman’s son, a thin figure wearing a short cape of ravenskin around his neck and shoulders for good luck, pranced beside his ice-bound boat shouting orders.
Maguan’s crew launched Ipalook and rowed away. They had prepared a narrow channel through the shore ice, just wide enough for the slender craft. As they passed Talliituk’s struggling crew, Avilik gave a jaunty wave.
They all took up paddles, rushing out to the site where Alaana thought she had heard the noise. The whale had already gone back under, singing as it went. Haunting snatches of whale song echoed beneath the heavy keels of ice. Maguan listened intently, hoping to divine a clue for their next direction, but no good. The sounds were already far off and distorted by the jumbled layers of ice. They would have to wait for the whale to surface again and hope it appeared within paddling distance.
Maguan ordered his crew to stop sculling. He scanned the frozen waters for a sign. There was none. And yet, Tugtutsiak already had his boat in motion.
“Should we follow?” asked Avilik.
Maguan glanced nervously about. “I don’t want to follow,” he said. “I want first harpoon.”
He indicated a channel that ran roughly parallel to the course Tugtutsiak had taken. Break-up had only recently begun, and the shifting lanes of water between the jagged plates of ice made the going very difficult. The paddles jammed on the ice breaks, splashing icy water at the crew.
Despite the wind and the cold, the icy spray and the fatigue, Alaana felt a surge of excitement. Women were never allowed on a whale hunt for fear the spirits would be insulted. Alaana was the exception. As shaman she had struck the bargain with the Whale-Man. Her presence would cause no danger. She wasn’t used to paddling and could hardly keep up with the others, but it felt good. She wore no mask, no ceremonial garb. Today she was only a common sailor enjoying the swell of the seas, the salty air, the warm camaraderie of the men.
“How far out to go?” asked Avilik. “Where will the whale break water next?”
Maguan looked to Alaana for help, but she shrugged her shoulders, saying only, “You're the umialik...”
Maguan laughed. Yes, he was the whaling captain. This day at last. He was.
He directed the crew to get Ipalook out into one of the broad, well-defined alleys of free water that lay between the land-fast ice and the thick sea pack. That way they would have less risk of being flipped by the choppy waves and some room to turn around if necessary. Tugtutsiak’s warning against tipping over was foremost in his mind; poor Ipalook was already rocking from side to side far more dangerously than he would have liked.
Tugtutsiak stood tall in his ship, now running a fair distance to the south. He surveyed the field. He knew the landmarks of this coast like no one else, and had a sharp memory for every place he had ever seen a whale come up before.
The whale rose up, casting spray into the air. Its momentous breath rumbled across the distance to the boats, louder than before, much closer, and never had a more thrilling sound been heard. The crews leapt into action, pulling hard at the paddles. The body of the whale appeared, rising like a great black rock in the water. It thrust forward with a slow undulation of its immense length, culminating in a graceful flourish of the fluked tail. At least four times the length of the umiak, the whale’s wide, finless back dwarfed the boat. The black whale, the great bowhead. Alaana thrilled at the sight of it. The sheer power of it. Its sleek head cracked the floes as it skirted along, knocking gigantic plates of ice aside. Its exhalation blew like the greatest horn ever trumpeted as it spewed spray high above their heads.
“Paddles in the water!” shouted Maguan. None of the boats were close enough for a throw, so the men kept to the paddles, hauling as fast as they were able. All the skinboats now had the same destination, threading their way between the floes. Tugtutsiak came closest, with Maguan’s Ipalook just to the north. Talliituk had not yet recouped his poor start.
After it had breathed enough, the bowhead’s nostrils clapped shut with a loud thump, the rounded back arched up and followed the head down. With a parting wave of its massive fluke, the agvisugruk disappeared under the water. It left behind only a patch of riotous bubbles and a cloud of mist and condensation drifting along the surface.
One final scrap of whale song drifted under the ice and then it went silent, leaving no clue as to its next destination. But that destination was all-important. The whalers had to find that precise spot and be ready. They had to predict it. Maguan pinpointed the direction of that final note, as did Tugtutsiak. But the whale was just as likely to change its course. And having breathed twice, so long and deeply, it would probably stay under for a long time now.
Tugtutsiak directed his crew in a westerly route, out into the open sea where his boat could maneuver easily. Maguan knew that was the best course, but again didn’t want to follow along the headman’s trail like a lapdog. His boat was more slender; they could ply the narrow channels closer to shore.
Out on the water the silence stretched unbroken. The waves rose and fell quietly and the icy wind stung silently at their faces and hands. In a short time, the quiet became maddening. Avilik broke into one of the traditional whaling songs. Unlike the seal, who was wary of the slightest noise, the whale would be drawn to the singing, and many such charm songs were known to the people.
“Listen!
Hear the roar of the north wind,
Hear the cracking sea-ice.
The whale is round and fat,
It’s coming up, coming up!”
The remainder of the crew joined in, Alaana adding her voice to the rest:
“Listen!
The women sit quiet at home,
Hear them doing nothing.
The whale sings under the sea,
Hear it rising, it’s rising!”
Tugtutsiak’s crew, older men with deeper voices all, broke into a rival song, calling the whale to them with a hearty chorus of “Rise whale! Rise whale!” Alaana found the camaraderie warmed the heart much as the exertions had warmed their bodies.
The songs died down after a while. It was wise to take an opportunity for some rest. No matter who got the whale, they could all look forward to a hard row back to shore with the gigantic carcass in tow.
Suddenly Ipalook lurched sharply, nearly tossing Avilik out into the open water. Alaana and the others held on as the boat was immediately flung to the other side. Drag floats and loose harpoon blades tumbled across the belly of the umiak.
Tugtutsiak and Talliituk shouted to their men. “Paddles in the water! Pull hard. Let’s go!”
“What’s happening?” asked Iggy, holding tight to side for dear life. The umiak tilted wildly. Iggy yelped in panic,
nearly going over the side, but the boat lurched again the other way.
The whale’s head breached the surface an arm’s length away from Alaana. Its gently furrowed rostrum, scarred from years of cracking ice, thumped gently against the side of the boat. The bowhead crested, showing off its white chin markings and shaggy bristles, and at the corners of the mouth the enormous gray-lidded eyes gazed intently at the boat. On the outer curve of the whale’s eye Alaana saw her own reflection.
Avilik cried out in alarm. But Alaana was not afraid. She saw a warm light dancing in those old eyes. Ipalook was so unsteady in the water, so easy to tip, the whale could have dumped them all into the icy sea if it had wanted. But no, it was swinging them playfully side to side.
And then, before Tugtutsiak could lay to his harpoon, the whale dived again. It hadn’t taken the time to breathe and would have to resurface soon.
Again the same question: where to go? It had stayed a long time under the water. The next breach would have to be close, but in which direction? It wasn’t likely it would come up again so near to the boat. Intuition was equally as important as judgment, the true measure of a whaling captain. Maguan pulled himself up to the headboard, gasping for breath. Shaken by the rough treatment of their little boat, his face was tight-lipped and pale.
Alaana did her best to help. “He’s large and fast, this aqviq, and although he’s old he doesn’t want to die easily. He wants to play.”
“Play?” snarled Avilik, spitting out water. “It very nearly killed us.”
“That’s the whaler’s life,” said Alaana evenly.
“It’s good to see you so calm about it,” said Maguan.
“And why not? This is the one the Whale-Man promised me. We’ll get him.”
“Let’s go after it, then,” said Maguan.
Alaana returned her brother’s grin. “Take Ipalook straight out. I don’t think he’ll come up again so near the shore.”
“Ahh,” said Maguan with a wry smile. “I’m glad I let you come along, after all.”
The whale, agile and swift under the floes, led them a terrific chase. It savored every moment, spending its strength down to the last drop. It teased, showing only a forked plume of steam or the sway of an arched back, and dove under again. The men rowed and rowed. The bigger boats coasted faster but the slimmer Ipalook had the advantage of sharp turns. Tugtutsiak’s instincts were most often correct. He kept close to his quarry, his vigilance tireless. Talliituk twice went into blind alleys, got stuck in soft young ice, and had to turn his boat around.
Finally, the whale came up in range of their weapons. Alaana and Iggy stuck to the paddles, sculling with all their might. Avilik, the harpooner, stood on the headboard. Maguan controlled Ipalook from the rear, keeping the angle steady with his paddle. All depended on timing and cooperation. The harpoon pole was heavy and Avilik’s arm shook slightly with the weight. Tipped with a detachable head of whalebone carved in the form of a bowhead, the harpoon blade had been inscribed with potent symbols to show respect for the hunted. The point was connected to the long shaft of the weapon by a line of strong sinew with two floats hanging at the far end.
The enormous whale broke the surface. Avilik leaned forward, stretching over the rim of the skinboat. Alaana tended the line, her job to keep it straight and tight. If the line snagged or tangled, the boat would flip and be dragged under.
His arm poised, Avilik hesitated. “Turn, turn!” he hissed. “I can’t get the death-place in view.” The huge head was in the way.
Ipalook lurched, caught on a sudden wave borne of the thrashing tail.
“He’s going back down,” said Maguan, “Let fly now!”
Avilik uncoiled his spring, taking the shot with all his skill. The harpoon flew straight at the circling whale but served up only a glancing blow along the flat of the back. The spear point detached from the shaft and took the line out of Alaana’s hands. No good.
“First harpoon!” shouted Tugtutsiak with glee. The whale was his.
His harpoon head, also ceremonially decorated by Alaana, cut deep into the neck of the whale, just behind the eye. The great beast thrashed, bringing its fluke crashing into the water. Alaana sensed that something was wrong. A certain resistance was expected but now at the conclusion of the hunt, its outcome preordained, there should have been a peaceful resignation. This whale reacted with an explicit fury when stung by Tugtutsiak‘s blade.
A chilling sound drove down from the bergs in the distant north, a mournful shriek carried on the icy wind.
Tugtutsiak’s leg got caught up in his line. The line jerked forward, threatening to pull him under. Alaana puzzled at the sight of the headman dragged across the headboard by his own line. There was no way Tugtutsiak would make such an amateurish mistake. His youngest son, Oaniak, sprang forward. Stabbing the line with a sharp crescent blade, he managed to cut the heavy cord before his father was lost.
The whale continued thrashing in the sea. Riotous swells of water heaped as the big black form rolled, driving Ipalook upward on the gush and then backward, nearly tipping it over. Maguan struggled to keep the boat aloft with his paddle. Alaana steadied herself against the fore pole. Speaking in the secret language of the shamans she attempted to soothe the whale by invoking the Whale-Man’s blessing.
“Thank you, great whale. You have come to us in our need. As Usinuagaaluk has promised, you have come to join our people. Thank you, noble spirit.”
The bowhead continued to flounder in pain, shaking the water so violently that the men had not one free hand among them with which to grab for a weapon.
Alaana held fast. “Rest easy. Your soul will be honored and remembered.”
A mixture of oil, blood and mucus spewed forth from the blowhole, showering the young shaman.
A dark cloud-bar approached on the ice horizon. And the sound, that frighteningly human wail...
“Ayah!” said Iggy. “It’s weeping!”
No, thought Alaana. That noise did not come from the whale. It had risen up from the depths of the sea.
The men on the far side of Tugtutsiak’s craft took up their hooked poles and drove them at the body of the whale. The bowhead’s bloody exhalation clouded the air, drenching them in its driven mist. They stabbed blindly but found no luck. Then the tremendous whoosh of breathing filled their ears, so deafeningly close it rattled the boats, and the whale went back down.
Tugtutsiak’s sealskin float bobbed on the water for a moment and then it went under, taken down with the whale. There could be no question about where it was headed now. Once struck, a whale will always head for the open sea. But which direction was the sea?
Caught in the cloud of vapor, the men hurried to check what remained of their equipment.
The mist from the whale’s exhalation lifted, drifting toward shore. When the whalers could see again they found the whale had vanished. Alaana breathed a sigh of relief. It was unusual to be glad the prey had escaped but she felt certain they shouldn’t press their attack. She was intent now on calling off the hunt, if only she could get the message to Tugtutsiak’s craft.
The men were wet and cold, shivering despite their watertight garments. They had lost their food bucket and some of their equipment but the lashings in the center still held the heaviest poles in the belly. It was a good thing they had followed Tugtutsiak’s advice. Alaana realized that the bulky Iggianguaq had thrown himself down in the center of the boat in order to stabilize against its roll and had saved all their lives.
She called out for Tugtutsiak but it was no use.
“I can hear the ice creaking,” said Avilik.
Alaana started at the eerie, foreboding sound as the whale passed underneath.
Something was very wrong. Alaana staggered, her boots splashing bloody water in the bottom of the boat.
“Tugtutsiak!”
Three women sat in front of Tugtutsiak’s tent. They had sat like this, their backs to the ocean, for three days.
Aolajut was perfectly poi
sed, hands clasped loosely in her lap, a neutral expression on her face. She played the part of headman’s wife very well, presiding over the vigil with an attitude of cool forbearance. In contrast, Tugtutsiak’s younger bride Tookymingia fussed and fretted. She fidgeted on her cold seat, practically wearing smooth the top of the boulder, and too often turned to glance toward the water.
“Be still,” Old Higilak whispered. “Why are you so restless?”
Tooky frowned, an expression that exaggerated the child-like qualities of her slender face. “Life,” she said. “And breathing.”
“Breathing?” Higilak didn’t understand. Did she mean the breathing of the whale, which could vaguely be heard cutting across the sea, or Tooky’s own, which seemed shallow and much too rapid.
The women were under strict orders from Alaana not to sew clothes or comb their hair, or do anything even remotely resembling work. According to the taboos if a wife were to use a knife, her husband’s harpoon line would surely break; if she scrubbed the floor, his boat might be caught up in the ice. By their inactivity the women kept the whale’s soul passive and at peace.
“I can’t stand this waiting any longer,” said Tooky. “Is it always like this? We don’t hunt the whale in the south.”
“Set your mind to thinking of something else,” suggested Higilak. “I come from the southlands as well.”
“Truly?” said Tooky, her eyes alight with sudden hope that Old Higilak, who had also come from the outside, might prove to be a kindred spirit. Or perhaps a friend.
Higilak nodded. “My people called ourselves the Utkujalik.”
“I don’t know them,” said Tooky.
“You’re too young. My village was wiped out long before you were born.”
“Oh!” said Tooky.
“My husband Manatook rescued me from the wastes and brought me here to live.”
