Annie Muktuk and Other Stories

by Norma Dunning

  “My sink! Good grief Johnny—what in hell are you going to do with that?”

  “I’m throwing a little party over at me and Moses’ place tonight. How about $100?”

  “I charge $100 a head in my basement here Johnny. Losing the sink means I lose the business for today. I have four appointments lined up. You can’t afford my sink. Get outta here!” Maggie’s arm moves to slam the door. The quick jangle of my spur darts into the door frame. I am ready to bargain.

  “$600 cash and anything else you want. How’s that?” I yell into the crack of the almost open door. The door slowly opens.

  “Anything?” asks Maggie, her sagging eyes showing a spark.

  “Absolutely anything,” I reply.

  “Well, Johnny, my kids are with their anaanatsiaq. Do you understand my meaning?” Maggie’s sultry voice lowers “Do you understand what I am saying?”

  I step into the house. I understand the meaning. I know what Maggie wants and it should only take about twenty minutes of my day. I grin and nod. I understand completely. After all I had been to university.

  Itsigivaa/Lusts after it

  I WAS BATHING. Lying in the bubbles in anticipation of the evening ahead. Johnny Cochrane had come by and had invited all the other girls over to his place for a hair-washing party. He had glared at me and grinned at the others. But I knew better. Annie Muktuk was not going to miss out on her last opportunity to have a round with Moses Henry. I was primping, taking extra care to shave that stubble from my short, lean legs. My razor rounded my calves and I remembered my night with him a year ago. I leaned back into the warm water, and closed my eyes. My right hand glided between my open legs.

  “Annie, stop this! Aanauniq! Shame! Stop!”

  The back of my head hit the tiled wall and my right heel slammed against the tap of the bathtub.

  “God sakes Mama!” I yelled, “You Shame! You stop! Damn my heel hurts!” I began to rub my throbbing foot.

  “I think I cracked my heel. Fuck it anyhow! What do you want?” I knew better. I knew better than to speak to any Elder this way. I knew that my Mama is my helping spirit. Always on my side, always rooting for me. But I was mad! My foot hurt and my bath time fun had been interrupted.

  “Annie, why are you so filled with this sex stuff? Why is it always the men and the thing between their legs that matters most?”

  “Mama, why can’t you just say it, say, “Penis, cock, uhuk—just say it.”

  “Annie, my girl, my beauty. We both know it’s time. Time to settle. Time to have babies and be like all the other girls. Time to find love and not that other stuff.”

  “Mama, when will you stop this preaching? Tonight is a big night for me. I’m gonna have him again.”

  “Him? That Moses character?”

  “Yes, him. I like him Mama. I like him a lot.”

  “Annie, hear your Mama, put these words into your brain. Find love Annie, not the other thing. Uisuppaa.”

  “You mean make love to him? Not fucking?”

  “You always say bad words when you’re mad at me. Put the right word into your brain. Uisuppaa.”

  I stopped rubbing my heel and gave the word some thought. Reaching for the razor from the edge of the tub, I thought about Valentine’s Day. I stood up in the bathtub. Took the razor into my right hand and grinned down at my mass of black pubic hair.

  Iniqtuiguti/The Cause

  I HAD BEEN DRINKING one night with the Mayor and mentioned that I thought swimming cured hangovers. He laughed at me. I kept explaining that swimming released the hangover toxins. The swim topped off with the steamy sauna got rid of all of the night before. The Mayor told me that I could use the pool whenever I wanted to. As he left, he handed me his keys to the recreational centre saying, “Johnny, you’re gonna need these.” Keys and the security code were handed off and I have swum alone each morning at 5 AM since Jimmy left.

  I love to swim. Since I was a kid, I have loved swimming. It is one of the things I have done well. I love the feel of water and the rhythm of my body. Slap, lap, slap, lap. Inhale. Not too much. Exhale. Gently. Arm straight. Cup hand. Pull back. Thumb touches thigh. Slap, lap. Hand over the head. Small breath in. Exhale a little. Keep some air in my lungs. Something on reserve. Kick. Knees straight. Never bent. Keep as much of my body as possible on top of the water. Pull straight back. Only half the mouth out of the water. Inhale. Turn head into water. Exhale. Kick. Body never lays flat. Always in a half circle rotation. Slap, lap. Too much splash means I’m working too hard. Part of my head above the water or my legs will sink. Slap, lap.

  The day after Jimmy was buried, I went to the pool for the first time since that night with the Mayor. Swimming became my one focus in a 24-hour time frame. The water is where I can mourn. My early morning mourning. The chlorine tub where I fill my goggles with my own sad tears. Some days my goggles fill up fast. Other days the silent tears for my brother fill the fog-proof lenses slowly. With my head in the water, I can moan and scream out my anger. Only the cement floor hears the screams, and sees my painful face. It watches the twisted agony of me.

  We knew each other’s thoughts. Each other’s words before they were spoken. We looked into the mirror of each other’s face every day of our lives. We lived life in a way so different from those who had been born into this world as singulars. We were a duo. Jimmy had been a little smaller, a little slower, but I will never admit it. Jimmy was my brother. When I was in my twenties my mother confessed her sin to me.

  She told me of a New Year’s Eve party. A wild group was together in a trailer, country music was playing loudly and the Yuk-a-Flux was being shaken and passed around. Cigarettes and weed, yuk-a-flux and Johnny Cash; there was no better way to bring in the New Year. My mom would hold the glass jar of yuk-a-flux on her seven-and-a-half month swollen belly while the men around her got onto their knees and would try to lift the jar to their lips, running their hands around the inside of her thighs. It was their game, “No-hands-yuk-a-flux.” When the clock hit midnight and everyone began to blow into their cardboard horns, my mom lifted the glass jar of yuk-a-flux to her lips. Vodka, fruit juice and melted ice went into her belly and fed into only Jimmy’s side of the womb. Jimmy’s side of the sack got it. He was born as the FAS twin.

  I spent my life protecting Jimmy. At school. At home. It only got harder as Jimmy got older. Our mother drowned her sorrows in Cherry Jack night after night. After I had finished high school, I moved Jimmy in with me. We lived together in the tiny shack of a house until the day I decided I wanted to go “out.” Out to the city. Out to university. Out of town before I went out of my mind.

  I moved Jimmy back in with our mom. Jimmy had a job then at the port working nights pushing a broom. It gave him purpose and I had wanted to take a break from it all. I told Jimmy how to live while I was away. I promised him letters and gifts if he would just keep going to his job. I promised to live with him again as soon as I had my degree. I had promised Jimmy everything I could think of if it meant I could just get the hell out of the life I had created.

  Moses Henry had agreed to check in on Jimmy and I had held him to it. During the next four years I had called Moses Henry at all hours of the day or night asking for full reports. I liked doing this especially when I was drunk. Slurring my questions into the dorm phone, making Moses Henry accountable.

  One day the Dean came and got me. Moses Henry told me the worst news. Jimmy was dead. Suicide. Swinging from the side of the dark cement port. I don’t remember crawling onto the plane. I don’t remember the greeting arms of Moses Henry holding me up while I cried, unable to grab my backpack off the baggage carousel. That was the moment when my life had gone onto autopilot.

  I had done only one memorable thing since Jimmy’s death. I had gone to an Elder and asked her to tattoo his name on my back in the old way. Thread and soot. The pain of the stitching of Jimmy’s name between my shoulder blades had helped my sorrow feel real. Stitch by stitch I would tell myself it would have happened anyway.
The medications had always been hard to keep up with and Jimmy had a bad habit of feeling good and stopping the meds entirely. Our mother was useless. Cherry Jack was her daily medication. She had not had one clue what her boy was supposed to take or how.

  Some days are tougher than others. Some days I am scared I’ll lose Henry Moses like I lost Johnny. And so I swim. The water is the only place that knows my heartache. The water is the only place that accepts my guilt. My regrets. Kiinarlutuq, sad face into the water.

  Inurqituq/A Nice Guy

  THE SHEETS HAVE WRAPPED ME into a tight cocoon. My body reeks of Johnny’s sweat and vomit. A stench that no one can fall asleep by. I rerun the night. Hitting replay again and again.

  I could see my breath when I walked through the door. I thought it was the cold spring air that was chasing me inside the house. Stamping my feet and removing my jacket, I could smell the tequila. What a stink, what a horrid smell to walk into. I thought about turning on the lights but decided against it. Thought I’d just go to my room and close my eyes on this night. Forgive and forget. The rule I live by.

  When I walked past the kitchen table I saw his body there. Face down. Drool leaving clear puddles on the floor. Face towards the open window. I felt my own heart rate accelerate. Ka-thump-thump-thump. I touched Johnny’s back with the tip of my right index finger. Thumpthumpthumpthump. Cold. No movement. Thumpthumpthumpthump. No rising of oxygen into lungs. Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump. What should I do? Who could I call?

  Tears spill out of my eyes. “No Johnny! Not this way! Not this way!”

  My right index finger traces the tattoo across Johnny’s broad shoulders. “Jimmy” is all it says. Plain letters for a plain name. I try hard to take a deep breath but the air won’t come. I feel a moan starting to move up my throat. The same sound a downed caribou makes as it clears that last bit of wind from its pipes. The last noise any of us makes. Grief makes us guttural. Grief turns us back into the animals of the land we walk on.

  I will not pick up the phone. I can’t make that call out to Johnny’s mom. I will not be the one to deliver this news. I can only pray. All the memorized prayers of my youth come to my mind. I slump onto the kitchen chair and whisper, “Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name, blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Holy Mary, Idetestallmysinsbecauseofthinejustpunishments-butmostof all because they offend you my Lord, whoisallgood-deservingofallmylove.” The words run together into nonsense. Nothing flows the way it should. My mind is confused. My spirit runs sporadically in circles inside my chest.

  Just as I reach for the cordless phone, Johnny Cochrane rolls over.

  All I can say is, “I thought you were dead.” I didn’t show Johnny the absolute joy I felt watching him puke. Inside my heart returns to normal rhythm. The silent words of my prayers fall into line.

  “Thank you Lord for letting Johnny live, for letting me be his friend and for giving us both life. Amen.” I had wanted to fall to my knees and give thanks but I would never do that in front of Johnny. All I could do was to think “God has granted me one more prayer request where Johnny is concerned.”

  While Johnny vomited into the kitchen sink, I stood behind him making the sign of the cross. When he was done, we shook hands and we each went off to our separate rooms. Johnny doesn’t know that often, while he dreams of pussies and snatches, I stand in his room watching him sleep. I checked on Johnny many times last night. Like a Mama with a newborn. I stayed at Johnny’s side throughout last night. Afraid to close my own eyes. Worried that maybe alcohol poisoning could make a return. I held onto to Johnny’s strong hand until late this morning. Only then did I allow myself to slide under my own sheets, thinking that today I was definitely going to sleep in. Instead I tossed the events of the night into the air over and over again. Like making a salad.

  I feel an overprotectiveness towards Johnny. I see a side to him that Johnny never shows others. The side that cries, feels pain and loss. The side that longs for the identical twin brother. The brother who had been found swinging from a rope on the side of the cement dock at the port. I had been the person Johnny’s mom called to go with her to the dock. I had been the one who pulled Johnny’s mom away from that blue, battered body, blood frozen to the side of his mouth, empty eyes looking to nowhere, yellow rope carelessly blowing around his neck. I had brought her to my house and picked up the phone to tell my dearest friend to please come home.

  Tutsiapaa/He asks Him

  I TELL HIM ABOUT STOPPING OFF at the hotel to ask the ladies over. Moses Henry’s hot on my heels. I’m home after my swim and personal invitation to the ladies at the Aurora.

  “Did you see her? What did she look like? Was her face bruised? Was her nose broken? Was she damaged in any way? What about her hair? Did she still have those hot braids?”

  “I didn’t see the cunt,” I lie, “I didn’t invite that horny bitch over here. I don’t need that kind of slut-whore-arnalukak over here making a mess of things!”

  “Well look at you!” He says. “Busy calling the kettle black. You with all your women parading in and out of this place night after night!”

  He strides towards his room. “You, you, you—asshole!” he yells before he slams his bedroom door hard.

  As the door swings, I mutter, “Ah, get over it, Moses Henry.” I scream through the door, “Have yourself a good long sulk in there, you suckie baby! But you better have your cock on by six tonight! That’s when our company arrives!”

  Geez that guy, can’t please him no how. Bring home girls for him night after night and he acts like he’s taken a vow of abstinence. God damn him anyhow. What does he see in her? She is pretty and I won’t mind having a go at her myself. But how does a guy stick it inside of someone that his best friend has already visited? That’s a concept that’s just too hard for me to wrap my head around. Some things are off bounds, even for me.

  Shaking off that dirty thought I open up my bag of shampoos. There are all sorts of brands inside. Some smell like flowers. Some like fruit. Some have stuff that makes your hair straight, curly, or just shiny. It is a bag filled with tricks and treats. It is the one bag of goodies that no guy on earth should miss out on. The hair party was the best idea I’ve had since I got home a year ago. Moses Henry doesn’t get it though. Ah, he’ll come around.

  Moses Henry has saved my skinny, brown hide so many times since we were kids. He’s taken care of me better than anyone else on earth. I know I owe Moses Henry more than my life. I love him and I’m not ready to give him away like a husky pup to just anyone. Annie Mukluk is the problem.

  Annie represents all the things that I fear most. She is the one person who can take Moses Henry away from me. Moses Henry has to realize that Annie Mukluk can only be a fling. An annual event. Something to be enjoyed and discarded, like fireworks on Canada Day. Moses Henry saying that he loves her only makes a mess of things. I am Moses Henry’s isutsipaaq, his lead dog pulling Moses Henry’s life to where it should be. I plan on staying in first.

  I find the only tablecloth in the house and fluff it onto the table. The silver platter from on top of the fridge is placed in the centre. I remove the muktuk from the freezer and put it onto the oval disc. I do all this tenderly and begin to go through my collection of CDS. Start out with Eddie Rabbit, who would be lovin’ the rainy night and keeping it going until Phil sings me home. Ah, the food, the mood, and now the waiting of a night of recreation.

  Lying back down onto the wilting couch I fall into a light snooze. “He’ll get over it,” I say to no one in particular. “He always does.”

  Nakuusiaq/A Love Gift Received

  SIX O’CLOCK and the ladies are arriving. Light knocks at the door and Johnny is off the couch and bounding to the entrance like a dog chasing his own tail. He is wearing only his underwear. So excited. Ah, these Igloolik girls. They are standing on our step, a small group of six. Giggling like a gaggle of geese. Johnny is happy, the kind of happiness that makes your toes tingle. The k
ind of happiness you feel when you’re a Christmas morning kid and that one gift is possibly under the tree. Sarimajuq.

  I saunter out of my bedroom door. My eyes fall to disappointment realizing that she is not here. My mouth moves into a straight line. I pull back my hair and say, “Welcome, ladies.”

  Johnny smiles at me. He thinks I’m getting over it. His happy face bobbing up and down at me.

  The night begins. Johnny is the maestro of this orchestra. He is the front man to this pussy pit. He has the wand that will create an evening of magic.

  Resigned and re-assigned I return to my bedroom to get elastics for my hair. Turning to leave, I hear a light tapping on my bedroom window. My tundra swan is looking at me. Her nose is swollen and dark shadows circle her beautiful eyes. There is no Padlei on her face tonight. Only her long dark hair and a smile that looks painful. I slam my bedroom door and open the window. My Annie struggles to wiggle her body through it.

  “You’re here,” I whisper, “You’re here! Look at you. So beautiful.”

  Annie Mukluk tries to stand to her full five-foot-two frame but her foot is aching so very much. Her body is lopsided. Her face is bruised. Her nose is the size of a soft ball. Her small weight feels like an anchor as she stumbles into my arms. She is my broken woman.

  “What happened? What’s wrong?” I ask as I lift her.

  “Hurt my foot in the tub. And this face,” says Annie pointing to the bulge above her upper lip, “that’s courtesy of your pal Johnny.”

  “I am sorry for all this Annie. I am. I just wish…”

  Annie places a hand on each side of my face, “Imaa. We are together now. Usiqtuq.”

  “Here, put your foot on a pillow. I’ll get ice for it and we’ll just visit. How’s that?” I want her to feel better. I cannot believe that she is here with me, in my room with me. Right now.