Annie Muktuk and Other Stories

by Norma Dunning

  They had no respect for the aged in this place. Here, their word was final, not his. At home the old people understood everything. It was simple. They knew that the knowledge of the ancestors had been passed to the old people through their mother’s milk. It stayed in his blood. If he were at home he would be treated with pillurittitaq, like someone who is worthy of great favour from his people. He had obeyed to the spirit voices all of his life.

  “We must get Kakoot to the Land of the Dead within forty-eight hours,” he heard Sedna say. “One of you go the hospital and find a woman in labour. Make sure her pains are not too fast right now. Put some of your medicine inside of her. The rest of you begin to build the qalgiq. We have someone important to celebrate! Kakoot needs a house to come home to!”

  “But Sedna,” the Caribou Spirit countered, “he is in a white house now. They call it a nursing home. He will die in his krepik. He must go the Land of the Day and become one of the People of the Day.”

  Sedna’s face brightened to yellow. Her face glowed like the midnight sun. Her lips snarled, “He is one of us. He is an Elder. He is respected. He knows the old ways! He will come to the Land of the Dead. I have chosen him.”

  She turned to the Caribou Spirit who had dared to speak. “I have final say here. No questions! All the rest of you go build the qalgiq! I will be sure the hunters have good luck today for our welcome feast.” Her eyes stared into those of the frightened Caribou Spirit, “Except you. You have the head of a caribou but that rest of you is all man. You will continue to stroke my hair.” A delicious smile ran across her mouth, “and other things.”

  “There now, Mr. Tootoosis, what a fun name, we’ll just let you sit up and look around at your new home.”

  As the nurse’s shoes squeaked their way from his room he looked into the eyes of a black man. A big, black man who leaned in close to his face and said, “Well done Skeemo, now you just stay put. No blabbing in that native tongue today—got it? We heard you’re a screamer and we won’t have any of that around here. It’s quiet, always quiet, 24/7. No muktuk, mukluk, or what the fuck—got it Skeemo boy?” His huge, dark hands dug into Kakoot’s shoulders. Kakoot knew purple fingerprints were beginning to form under his purple polkadot hospital gown.

  Kakoot could feel his arniniq begin to drain out of him. Warehousing the elderly in nursing homes was cruel. Elders needed to wander away on an ice floe, but the Kabloona knew none of these things. They wanted to keep him strapped to this bed where he could do nothing but drift away in his head.

  “We forget,” Sedna began as she slid her back into the belly of the Caribou Spirit. “We forget to honour our ancestors’ ways. What has happened to all of us spirits? Kakoot is one of the good ones. We can’t bring him an ice floe and let him choose his time like we used to be able to do. These are the things that happen when Eskimos go south!”

  She saw the sideways teardrop-shaped eyes of the Caribou Spirit nod in approval.

  “You answered correctly!” Sedna leaned in a little closer and whispered, “Now, let me see the size of those man hands.”

  The big black one, the one with big hands, always called him “Skeemo”—like he hadn’t heard that over and over and over again. They all gave you names. Names that no one ever got right. Saying your name right meant you were real, that you existed, and there would be none of that in this white house. One white institution after another, that’s all his life had added up to. Mission folks who told him God loved him, he already knew that. Mission folks who changed his name from Kakoot to Amos.

  The spirits had chanted his name into the ears of his anaanatsiaq. She had heard it in the air and with her heart she had gifted it to him. His grandmother and those from the Land of the Dead had brought the worlds together inside his spirit. His name had given him the strength and skill of those from beyond. He carried his name with careful pride, always mindful of the expectations of his own people.

  Kakoot had been given many names by his people over time. It did not cause confusion. But the missionaries had given him a biblical name—to avoid confusion, they said. His mother had let them give him that other name, but she only used it when a mission person was present. Otherwise, she whispered “Kakoot” softly in his ears when waking him or when putting him to bed. Called it to him when he was outside and needed back indoors, sang it to him when she washed down his tiny body and at times yelled it to him when he was in danger. His mother—he had loved that woman more than any other woman in his lifetime.

  In the stump that was her hand, Sedna kept turning the Caribou Spirit’s fingers this way and that. “You know he was named after his grandfather. His grandfather was a great hunter and Kakoot was given his name, and his spirit at birth. It was a good birth. He lived up to his grandfather’s skills. All the spirits had chanted him into the world. I knew then that one day he would be The One.” Sedna looked again into the Caribou Spirit’s eyes. She lowered her voice to a sultry murmur, “Will you be The One too?”

  Qungaluttuq, that smile of embarrassment, spread across Kakoot’s face. There are some things that he should not hear from the spirit world but he understood this kind of woman. Women were divine creatures. Sent from the heavens to give you pleasure, warmth, and someone to eat a meal with. Someone to talk your day over with, someone to cuddle up to on those cold snow-filled nights when the wind howled longer and louder than any wolf. Women, they made you happy; they broke your heart. They were the charms of all of your life’s bracelets, they were only memories now. He had loved them all his days, he loved their sound, their swoosh, their smell. Women, there had been so many of them.

  Sedna could feel the Caribou Spirit’s body wiggling away from hers. “I am the Goddess of the Land of the Dead! You can try to get away but you know that I will make the people suffer. Do you dare to risk that? They have lost enough already. Even their names are no longer their own.” Sedna wrapped her elbows around Caribou Spirit’s ankles and dragged him back into place. “I would advise you to do as directed,” she cautioned him.

  Kakoot glanced down at his shrivelled penis and gave a short laugh. Now he only ate his oats but never sowed them. He sighed and looked towards the narrow window injected into the soft yellow wall. It was snowing. A good snow. Pukaangajug.

  The days of making snow houses with his family had slipped away so quickly. Simple days, days of building, hunting, and fishing. Days of laughter and happiness. Days of having only two concerns, food and warmth.

  After the mission came the schools. The white schools that taught him how to write with a pencil and pen. Schools where he became “Amos Tootoosis” and later was given a number: W-4369. For many years he wore his leather tag around his neck. He stopped feeling that it was there. It had become a part of his skin, a part of his heart. W-4369 replaced “Amos Tootoosis.” He was called by it in school, on his mail, and for a joke his family had painted it onto the front door of his house. Telling him that he would never go into the wrong house after a night out on the town.

  Sedna picked up Kakoot’s thoughts from the rocks where they had landed. “Remember the numbers, the tags and not one thing that any of us spirits could do to stop them?” She raised one of the Caribou Spirit’s hands onto her wrists, “Get back to straightening my hair! We’ll begin again.” Sedna lay back in the warm comfort of Caribou Spirit’s belly and sighed.

  Amos Tootoosis was a tinier, weaker version of the hunter and lover he had once been. Today he was Amos Tootoosis, member of the yellow pod, exit stage left. He sighed again and jerked the tall-backed chair towards the window. Good snow, snow that was hardy and ready to be turned into a house, tea, broth, and a face wash. Good snow.

  “Well, look at you Mr. LooseTooth, you managed to get yourself over to the window. My, you are a strong one!” spoke the squeaky-shoed nurse. They all did this, assumed that he couldn’t understand one damn word that fell out of their mouths. They compensated by talking in louder than normal voices as if they were talking to a newborn or a puppy. They all got hi
s name wrong too and he was long past correcting them.

  “Faster with the combing,” Sedna instructed Caribou Spirit. “We used to sing and drum the babies into the world. Our birthing love songs were the best. Where do you suppose the Spirit who went to the hospital is? You go find out what is happening. And don’t dawdle.” Sedna smiled that smile that always lies somewhere between evil and good. The one that leaves the receiver unsure. “You never want to leave me waiting. Ever.”

  Kakoot did not want to make her wait. He could hear the drums of his ancestors calling his voice into singing. He began to chant a drum song from his childhood in his head, one that made people happy. Atuvalluk, a song of love.

  To the white world that now contained him, Kakoot smiled. He had learned to years ago when dealing with the whites. Always smile, always nod and as soon as they were gone, go back to who you really are. The white people would say that the northern heathen savages were ever so passive, accommodating, and child-like, but the reality was that not one of them gave a good god damn. Kakoot, Amos Tootoosis, W-4369 had lived through it all but had decided he would never die here, not this way.

  Caribou Spirit spat out all his words at once, “The Hospital Spirit has slowed the labour pains of a young woman in the hospital. He is wondering how much longer he has to keep her like this?”

  “How long?” Sedna screamed, “How long? What the hell is wrong with you? The new baby arrives in the way of welcome that our ancestors showed us. What I want to know is, is he whispering the name ‘Kakoot’ in the mother’s ears?”

  “I don’t know.” Caribou Spirit’s Caribou head looked past her.

  “Then get back there and tell him to!” Sedna screeched. “And then, you will return to me. We have a transaction to complete before this day ends.” Her arms shaped like boat paddles shooed him away.

  Kakoot mimicked the boat paddles that he saw as he tried to wave the nurse away, but she had more to say. “Your lunch will be here shortly, and well, I guess you’re okay for now. After nap time we are having a little social in the main fireplace area today—you’ll be coming. See you later Mr. Too-Much-Moose—my, what a name!” Then she was gone. The sound of nylon against nylon as her round legs and squeaky shoes left the room.

  Kakoot closed his eyes. It was the best way to handle all white places. Close your eyes and remember. Remember the days of the hunt, the days of preparation for it, the days of watching over the land and waiting for the herds to come. The days of patience and planning, the happiest days of his life. He could smell the cold air, he could see the browns, yellows, and soft greens, he could hear the multitudes of birds that arrived each spring. When he closed his eyes he was young again, he was strong, but most importantly, he was free.

  “Where are the hunters?” Sedna shrieked. She had to get everything in order. The new baby was coming. They had to name him Kakoot. The Spirit Drummers and Dancers had to be ready to go. The time was fast approaching. The feast had to be in order. Order, these Spirits needed order. Order, that was something the Spirits had lived through. They would understand her.

  The sound of a wet, sloppy mop made Kakoot jerk his eyes open. He snapped his head over to one side and saw a janitor in navy blue pants and a matching short-sleeved shirt. He had a nametag with the word “Wade” written on it.

  “Hey pal,” said the janitor. “You’re new. I’d shake your hand but I’m a janitor and touching a patient is considered cross-contamination of the worst kind. Well, what do you think of your new digs?”

  This young man spoke in a regular voice, but Kakoot could not hear. He waved to Wade, motioning him to come closer to the window.

  “Look at all that fuckin’ snow! It’s gonna be one big, fat bitch to try and get home tonight. Lucky you, you don’t have to worry about driving in this shit.”

  Wade started back to the door, the mop dancing half number eights all over the floor.

  “Aniguititsijuq,” said Kakoot.

  “What?” Wade turned around and started back into the room. “You old timers, you’re always saying shit that doesn’t make sense. What can I do?”

  Kakoot turned his dark eyes directly at Wade. He spoke softly, slowly. “I need your help young man. I need you to help me get out of here.”

  “Listen, Mr. …what’s your name here? I’ll check the door,” Wade walked back to the door, looked at the white tag with the name “Amos Tootoosis” imprinted on it.

  “OK, listen Mr. … Shit, I don’t know how to say that name. Listen Mr. Amos, I can’t do anything extra for people around here. They’ll whip my ass, I’ll lose my job, and then what’ll happen? We all want outta here.”

  The Spirit Hunters stood before her. At her feet lay caribou piles. Stacked one on top of the other in groups of five.

  “Is this enough?” Sedna asked. Her mouth drew tight to her face. No one could ever please her. Each Spirit Hunter looked away into the empty space of the Land of the Dead.

  “We are bringing home Kakoot! We need more meat. He’s been off in the city without any of the real food that he grew up on. This is a welcoming party. Go out and get more!” The Spirit Hunters shuffled away.

  “My hair!” screamed Sedna. “I will allow the Spirit Hunters’ kill to grow only after my hair is untangled!”

  Two old four-legged Women Spirits came forward and dug their sixteen fingers and four thumbs into the mass of knots.

  They rocked on their eight legs behind her and began to hum the Song of Love.

  “Stop it!” scowled Sedna. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

  “You love him,” said the oldest of the Old-four-legged Woman Spirits.

  Wade looked Kakoot straight in the eyes. “How about I do this for you instead?” Wade leaned over and whispered into Kakoot’s ear, “Do you want a cigarette?”

  Kakoot chuckled. This white boy was not so bad.

  “Yes,” Kakoot answered even though he didn’t smoke.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. After lunch they come around and put all you guys into your beds for naptime and then after nap—because today is Friday—they take you to the fireplace area where you each get to drink one glass of draught. It’s shit alright. It’s the cheapest, ugliest tasting crap that they bring in from The Empress Hotel. So how about this: before they come to get you up from the nap, I’ll come back, get you into a chair, and we’ll go off to my office for a smoke—alright?”

  “He is chanting ‘Kakoot’ into her ears over and over again,” reported the Caribou Spirit. With fear clipped to his voice he added, “I will fly back to him once you give the signal to increase the labour pains. He says that in her sweaty discomfort she is now saying the name ‘Kakoot’ out loud.”

  “Good news,” snickered Sedna. “Leave!!” she screamed at the old four-legged women. Her arms rotated like a boat propeller as she sent the women off at a jerky run. She looked back at the Caribou Spirit and asked, “How do you have sex with those big antlers on your head?”

  Kakoot nodded. His day now had a purpose. He had something to do besides remember. Kakoot looked at Wade letting the crow’s feet of his eyes begin to take flight.

  “That sounds good. Now, you said you’re not allowed to touch people but allow me the honour of just one thing, young man. Allow me a quick handshake. After all, we appear to have a gentleman’s agreement.” Kakoot put his wrinkled, brown hand forward. Wade’s mouth was hanging open in amazement as he put his strong, white hand forward. They shook hands and surprised each other with a small, extra squeeze as the shake ended. They grinned at each other. Each had found a friend.

  Lunch had been the usual soft, mushy stuff. Stuff without flavour, stuff without texture. It went into your mouth and you didn’t have to chew. Open, swallow, open, swallow, take another breath, open, swallow. Done. All the meals were like that here. There was never choice, there was never smell. It was food that lacked aroma and food that smacked of arrogance. As if you were deemed by age to no longer yearn for the taste of home. He missed his food, hi
s food. His tuktu, his fish, his whale. He missed the feeling of a good chew, the gnawing and grinding of teeth against solid substance.

  Even some dried fish would be better than this swill they called food. Fish that he used to catch in the spring and summer to feed to his dogs in the winter. His dog food would taste better than any of crud that arrived on a tray tucked under shiny steel domes. Eat that lunch, get it done and soon they’ll tuck me away for a nap.

  Kakoot was tired of many things but mainly he was tired of not being able to eat something that mattered.

  “Well, Mr. Goose-Goose,” said the nurse, returning with the big black man behind her. “We’re here to tuck you in for a snooze, how about that!”

  Kakoot could feel his body oozing out of every pore. It was starting. His body was freeing his spirit.

  Caribou Spirit strutted towards Sedna with confidence, “Well, let’s give this sex thing a try and find out,” he said. His big caribou nose glistened with taliut. Sedna stepped back and glared at him.

  “I’m so glad I never married! All you men, you’re all the same! I would rather live like this,” she said, waving her fingerless palms in the air. “My father thought he had punished me by cutting off my digits, but look at what I have done with that. I take care of my people and that is my purpose. You—you were just a small afternoon possible delight. Fly back to the hospital. It’s time! Send the old women back in!”

  Kakoot heard the squeaky nurse coming down the passage. Good God, he thought, this nurse is worse than any teacher I ever had a school. Maybe being called by his disc number hadn’t been so bad after all. Ah, she’d get that one wrong too. He looked up with the obligatory smile across his face. Just smile, just smile and know that this whitey and one black guy will leave. He felt the big square black hands scoop him out of his chair and smack him into this bed. He didn’t moan, he didn’t blink. He’d won bigger battles with bigger people in his lifetime. Just smile and know that will all end shortly.