by Stef Penney
Jakob thinks back over their work on Ellesmere. Both he and Erdinger took sightings, and checked each other’s calculations. He is fairly sure he cannot be accused of negligence. However, that is no comfort to Frank. He wouldn’t have thought Armitage capable of such amateurishness.
Frank says quietly, ‘I thought we weren’t going to make it back.’
‘But you did.’
Frank gives a great sigh.
‘I thought a lot about Marion up there. How stupid it would be if I died for this. I realised that I’m’ – he laughs – ‘not very brave. When I get home, I’ll be happy to sit in a consulting room and live a safe, comfortable life, surrounded by friends and family.’
‘Nothing wrong with that. That’s nothing to do with bravery, or lack of it.’
‘But it’s not for you.’
‘I wouldn’t say that . . . but I do want to come back.’
‘Lester’s coming back.’ Frank looks up at Jakob. ‘Would you come back with him?’
Jakob shrugs. ‘It depends. If the geological work goes well, I might be able to get up something in that line on my own.’
Frank shades his eyes with his hand and they fall silent. A voice calling out makes them turn their heads away from the sea. Two Eskimo women approach them. One of them is Meqro, a quiet, cheerful girl who was briefly Frank’s mistress in the spring. The other is a young widow, Ainineq. Both are smiling. Meqro sits down close to Frank, who sits up and grins shyly.
Ainineq squats beside Jakob and looks at his handiwork.
‘This is very bad,’ she says, laughing. ‘You let me do it!’
‘I want to learn how to do it myself.’
‘Pah! You are a man,’ she says, smiling dismissively. ‘This is for women.’
He surrenders the boot, watching her as she takes the needle and thread and begins to repair his work.
Chapter 16
Neqi, 77˚52’N, 71˚37’W
July 1892
Last summer, when the Sachem had struggled through the ice of Smith Sound and dropped anchor in the bay off Neqi, the villagers came out of their houses, stared at the tall strangers who were not upernallit, and asked warily, ‘Are you flesh or are you spirit?’
The Americans answered, as Johannes had taught them, ‘We are flesh. We are men.’ It was what you said, to reassure them that you were not demons.
Word of the big house the kallunat built spread fast; Eskimos arrived from up and down the coast, and a straggling camp of rawhide tents – tupiks – sprang up nearby.
The Eskimos brought narwhal ivory, meat and furs, and the Americans, who had been counting on this, exchanged them for utensils, tools, trinkets and wood. Some of the men were put on a retainer to hunt over the winter, and some of the women were employed as seamstresses and general servants. The most useful thing they did was to prepare seal and bear skins and sew them into the men’s winter clothing: bearskin trousers, sealskin boots, seal-gut parkas. These were beautifully made, warm and weatherproof. Their cooking and cleaning were haphazard, to say the least.
The curiosity displayed by both sides to the other was most apparent with the women. They had an extraordinary lack of shyness. When the sun shone, or when sitting in a tent warmed by a lamp and the exhalations of many bodies, they would whisk off their parkas and sit almost naked, clad only in fox-skin shorts, with a total lack of self-consciousness. The men did likewise, stripping down to their bearskin breeches. The Eskimos took no notice of what was, to them, a practical measure to dry out clothes that had become damp with sweat, so Jakob and the others averted their eyes, and tried to do the same.
Forces ranged in defence of conventional morality were the lack of privacy (an unheard-of concept) and the lack of water for washing (equally unheard of), which meant that the Eskimos carried with them a pungent fug of sweat and seal fat. Effective at first, the deterrent lessened the more the Americans became used to it. Endangering virtue on the other side was the women’s flirtatious friendliness; and the women Lester chose as domestics were personable and seemingly available. The men had heard rumours of wife-swapping and the wantonness of Eskimo women – Jakob had assumed them exaggerated, but they seemed to be true.
One of the servants, Natseq, was a widow with two young children. She was plump and bronze-skinned, her habitual expression one of gentle irony. She had hardly spoken to Jakob until, one night in autumn, after they had gone to bed (the Americans slept in the one big room of the house, divided by curtains – Armitage alone sheltered behind a wall of packing cases), Jakob was woken by someone climbing into his bunk. Grey light pervaded the hut from the snow outside.
‘No talking,’ she whispered, and he saw her teeth flash in a smile. He guessed why she was here, was in equal measure surprised and excited.
‘Natseq . . .’ he muttered. Blood rushed in an avalanche to his groin; it was almost painful.
She lay down beside him under the blankets – his bunk was only three feet wide, so he could feel her warm skin, smell her ripe human scent. Apart from her shorts, she wore nothing. He thought, I’m half asleep; it’s not as though I have any say in the matter . . .
‘This night, Te Pey,’ she whispered, ‘I see your life is hurting you.’
Jakob could think of nothing to say to this, and was not about to disagree with anything she said. Natseq placed a bare leg over his. One of his arms was around her shoulders. Her warm hand rubbed his chest, tickled his belly, his muscles tensing in anticipation, then slid downward and encountered his swollen penis, which leapt at her touch. He shivered with an almost unbearable delight. It had been a long time, and he was instantly on the brink of eruption. He prayed that he wouldn’t embarrass himself.
‘Marmarai,’ she murmured. Jakob knew that this word, mumbled appreciatively over anything from a pipe of tobacco to a morsel of decomposed auk flesh, meant something like, ‘Mm, it’s good.’ He remembered hearing a young boy say it as he licked the results of a sneeze off his hand. That helped a little.
It was strange – not off-puttingly so – but strange nonetheless. He tried to kiss her on the mouth, but she turned her head away – no. She rubbed her nose against his face but avoided his lips. He caressed her smooth, plump body and eased off her fur shorts with her full cooperation, but when he tried to put his hand between her legs, she batted him off, hissing, ‘Naamik, naamik! No!’ And when he kissed her breasts, he was startled to find his lips were wet. He looked at her in surprise – he had forgotten, in his befuddled state, she had a two-year-old child. He could see her black, heavy-lidded eyes looking at him, gleaming in the almost dark.
‘Marmarai,’ she whispered again, laughing silently, and pulled his head back down to suckle her.
.
Jakob would have felt a certain unease – guilt was perhaps too strong a word – over his liaison with Natseq, except that his colleagues were doing the same. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. Armitage had taken for his companion a beautiful young woman called Ivalu, despite the fact that she was married to the local witch doctor, and despite the fact that he had a photograph of his wife hanging on a nail in his alcove. Erdinger was promiscuous and indiscriminate (not, Jakob told himself, that his own discrimination had played much of a part). Not all of them succumbed; the handsome Shull – as much a magnet for female attention here as he must be in New York – laughingly fought off a number of local girls. And Frank, for the first months, at least, told them he was about to be married, and couldn’t do such a thing, no matter how charming they were.
In early winter, a party of hunters returned to the village with sleds piled high with walrus carcases. There was much shouting and laughter – it seemed there was no greater happiness to the Eskimo than heaps of raw meat. The snow around the village was red with butchery. Then Jakob understood how stark was their equation of life. More than one of the locals said to them, ‘This winter we will eat – we
will live!’ An empty sled meant hunger. In that liminal zone between survival and extinction, he thought he understood why a woman would climb into a man’s bed without compunction. If, in a few months, we may be dead, why not enjoy ourselves?
The evening of the hunters’ return, at the feast, the Americans had to be reminded of the hunters’ names, and Jakob was horrified when one of the men was introduced as ‘Sadloq, husband of Natseq.’ At first, he thought it must be some other Natseq, but then he saw them rubbing noses affectionately, and Sadloq picked up the little girl and carried her around on his shoulders. Appalled, Jakob seized the first opportunity to speak to Natseq in relative privacy, and said, ‘Natseq, I thought your husband was dead! I wouldn’t have . . .’
Natseq stared at him, a smile breaking out. ‘I not widow. Sadloq away hunting. Ainineq is widow. Her husband, Kali, die last year, hunting bear. Sadloq is alive. You only like widows?’
‘No, I like you very much. I mean . . . I thought you didn’t have a husband, so we could . . . I cannot take another man’s wife. It is wrong.’
Natseq was puzzled. Jakob was aware of his hypocrisy; a few years ago, it hadn’t bothered him that Cora Gertler was a married woman, but then, he was eighteen, and he had never met her husband, who seemed, in any case, irrelevant. A middle-aged taxidermist – who could take such a man seriously, or pity him, or fear him?
But he was mortified, having met Sadloq, a friendly man his own age – and in this fragile, beautiful, lethal place, where everyone knew everything, and every man killed for his living.
He told her that he was sad, but that they could not go on now that he knew the truth. Natseq gave him to understand that Sadloq was happy for them to continue, but Jakob could not really believe it.
.
The most surprising thing was that Frank, after months of celibacy, had given in to temptation and formed a relationship with Meqro. He had believed, he told Jakob, in keeping himself pure for his future wife, but now he was afraid that he might never return from the north – and then . . . he had never . . . Surely, under the circumstances, he would be forgiven? He seemed put out that Jakob had given up sleeping with Natseq, as if Jakob’s abstinence were an adverse comment on his own behaviour.
‘For heaven’s sake, Frank. I don’t blame you. I’m hardly going to lecture you on morality. Needless to say, Marion will never know.’
.
After that, Jakob decided to withstand all further attacks on his virtue (the thought makes him smile). He is aware that he does not understand the Eskimos. Though he has seen no direct evidence of jealousy, he has witnessed plenty of marital strife. Just yesterday, he was walking past the tents when he was shocked to see a man dragging his wife out of their tupik by her hair. Both were yelling at the tops of their voices. The man was Metek, whom he had always held in high regard. Neither he nor his wife paid Jakob any attention when he remonstrated. When he seized Metek by the arm, and they finally stopped, both hung their heads, looking sheepish.
Feeling absurdly pompous – the more so as Metek’s head barely reached his chin – Jakob said, ‘This is no way to settle an argument. Look – good heavens, you have pulled out Ilaitsuq’s hair!’
Metek and his wife stared at the ground. Metek dropped the handful of black hair with bloodied roots and grunted in apparent capitulation. Having delivered himself of a little homily on marital negotiation, Jakob went on his way, rather pleased with himself. Before he had gone thirty yards, the shouting started again.
In mid-July, the hunter Omowyak comes to visit, bringing news: at a village a few miles down the coast, another white man’s expedition has arrived. After much laughter from Omowyak, Johannes further states – although none of them believe him – that the leader of this expedition is a woman – yes – with breasts and a vagina (Omowyak mimes this; Johannes does not translate), and furthermore – ieh! – one who is a friend of the Eskimos.
The Americans decide it must be some sort of joke, but the mere presence of another expedition in the area is intriguing. Armitage receives the news with a clenched jaw; he regards other explorers as he would burglars in his house, but the thought of meeting English-speaking men after more than a year is the cause of jollity in the rest of them.
.
‘I’m too busy to leave, at present. What if the ship arrives while we are gone?’
Depending on ice conditions, the Sachem is due to come and pick them up during July or August.
Erdinger, Jakob and Lester are sitting at the table in the hut. The weather is grey and squally. Although there is still plenty of daylight, it feels as though winter is lying in wait. Lester broods, swirling his mug of substitute coffee.
‘I think you and Erdinger should go. Make enquiries.’
‘Surely you want to meet them yourself?’
‘I will give you a note for the leader. I suggest you bring them here.’
He seems to think this would show respect to the more senior expedition. Jakob, not entirely happy with his task – Lester will blame him if they come back alone – goes to look for Frank, who is sitting on the beach in the sun. He looks round with a smile. He has a notebook on his lap, and is attempting to draw an iceberg.
‘You’re going now? I hope you bring them back – with this mysterious woman, if she really is a woman!’
Johannes has sworn on his Bible that this is the case. Johannes does not joke about his Bible, so they are curious, although they still do not believe him. It is clearly impossible.
Chapter 17
Siorapaluk, 77˚47’N, 70˚38’W
July 1892
Jakob and Erdinger are spotted while still some distance from their destination, and two figures come to meet them. One, Pualana, is a mahogany-faced, elderly man, who often visited over the winter. The other, Ayakou, is his son.
Questioned about the newcomers, Pualana affirms that their leader is indeed a woman – angut – and refers to her as one of the upernallit. Jakob thought that was the word they used for British whalers; he is probably mistaken.
As they approach the village of Siorapaluk, more people come out to greet and inspect the visitors. Laughing, they point to a spot a little further down the bay, to where there are tents and the skeleton of a wooden building. Three men put down their tools and come to greet them.
The British introduce themselves as Ralph Dixon, geologist; Maurice Seddon, doctor; and Edwin Daneforth, photographer and biologist. Dixon, a big, untidy man, says, ‘Come and have some coffee; you must meet our leader, Mrs Athlone.’ He lays distinct emphasis on the name, and gazes at them as if daring them to make some comment. As he leads the way to their tents, a figure gets up from a seated position and waits for them.
Jakob’s first, amazed, thought is, For heaven’s sake, she’s only a girl. Mrs Athlone is tall – almost the same height as he – and strongly built, with a youthful, watchful face. She cuts a bizarre figure; her clothing – trousers and canvas shirt – is of the same pattern as that of her colleagues. She has been talking to the angekok, Aniguin, husband of Lester’s mistress. Mrs Athlone holds out a hand to Jakob without smiling, and says, in a quiet, clear voice, in an accent he is not familiar with, ‘I am Mrs Athlone, leader of the First British North-West Greenland Expedition. How do you do?’
Jakob and Erdinger shake hands and introduce themselves. Jakob wishes Frank were here; he feels as though he might laugh at any moment, out of nervousness at the oddity of the situation.
Dixon goes to prepare coffee and biscuits. Mrs Athlone and Aniguin speak quickly in the Eskimo language; she sounds fluent: another surprise. Erdinger seems struck dumb by the whole thing. In growing silence, Jakob says, ‘Pualana told us that you were an “upernallit”, which I always thought meant a whaler. I must have misunderstood.’
‘No, you didn’t, Mr de Beyn. I first came here ten years ago, with my father, a whaling captain from Dundee. I met Aniguin
then.’ She inclines her head to the angekok. ‘We played together as children.’
‘Good heavens!’ It is the only thing Jakob can think of to say. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just very unusual.’ He smiles winningly at her, hoping she won’t be offended. She doesn’t smile back.
‘You speak the language fluently?’ he asks.
‘I wouldn’t claim that I was fluent. I have forgotten much. Aniguin is reminding me of it.’
‘Ah.’
Jakob wishes Erdinger would say something, but he is staring at Mrs Athlone with a meaningless smile on his face, like an idiot.
‘Mr Armitage is not with you?’
‘No, he’s not long returned from a journey on the ice cap, but he’s anxious to meet you. There’s a great deal to do before our ship arrives. I have a letter from him.’ He hands it over.
He watches her as she turns away, opens the letter and bends over it. Her head is bare, and a plait the colour of wet sand is coiled at the back of her head, revealing an elegant neck. Her face is broad, somewhat heavy in repose. She can’t be older than him – younger, surely? She is not unattractive, although painfully serious. He tries to imagine her in feminine clothing, or smiling.
She reads the letter twice through, then folds it up and puts it in her pocket. Dixon reappears with a coffee pot and cups – Jakob is delighted to realise that they have real beans; he hasn’t tasted decent coffee for months.
Dixon hands round chunks of biscuit. Jakob tries not to eat too ravenously, although it has been hours since they ate. Erdinger has no such qualms.
Mrs Athlone puts down her cup. ‘Mr Armitage regrets he is too busy to come and visit, and invites us to pay a visit to your quarters. However, we, too, have much to do.’ She glances at the half-built house. ‘We don’t know how long this weather will hold.’
