Our committee raised concerns about possible actions of the American Peary family. We still had received no expression of interest from them, and we wondered if their apparent efforts to sabotage our plans in Greenland portended similar behavior once Kali and his family arrived in the United States. We were not even certain whether Kali and his sons would still want to make the trip in the wake of the family conflicts and dissension that the American Pearys and their associate had caused. But the committee shared my belief that if Kali still wanted to come along, we should bring him and his family, regardless of whether the Pearys would receive him. We would receive him and would see to it that he visited his father’s grave site in Washington as well as Peary’s old summer home on Eagle Island, Maine. Although we also knew that the American Hensons were prepared to welcome Peary’s Eskimo family as their own, we agreed that I should try once more to reach other members of the American Peary family to see whether they might receive Kali or at least greet him at the Harvard reception.
By now, I had an extensive list of immediate Peary family members living all over the United States. I reached a few of them, but they all indicated that they did not want to meet Kali or take any part in our activities. One of the most revealing encounters occurred while I spoke with one of Robert Peary’s great-granddaughters. We spoke by telephone and her voice suggested a very pleasant and kind person. I introduced myself and told her about the plans for Kali’s visit. I also told her that Kali was a Peary and simply wanted to visit America and meet some of his relatives. She listened attentively, occasionally responding with polite remarks.
“I understand what you’re doing, Dr. Counter, and I would like to participate, but I have to stick with the family.” I implored her to consider Kali’s feelings and his lifelong desire to meet his American family. I invited her to meet him at Harvard or in the privacy of her home.
“This is the first time I ever heard of any Greenlandic Pearys,” she said. “I would like very much to have my children meet them.”
I could feel her wavering a bit. I became hopeful. “I would be happy to bring Kali and his children to your home to meet you and your children,” I offered, probably with too much enthusiasm.
“Mmm, I don’t know,” she said. “But there is something I would like to know. What is the name of the young man with the beautiful smile?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know, the young man in the Newsweek article—the one with the very beautiful smile. What’s his name?”
I pulled out the copy of the Newsweek that featured my first visit with Anaukaq and Kali. “Oh, yes. You must mean Ole, Kali’s nineteen-year-old grandson. He is a wonderful person—a little shy but very friendly. You and your family would enjoy meeting him, and he you.”
The woman at the other end of the line seemed to acquiesce for a moment. “Yes, I would like very much for my children to meet him.” Then she added, “But no, I can’t do that. I’m sorry, I have to stick with my family on this one. Good-bye.”
Obtaining passports and visas for thirteen Greenlandic Eskimos to visit the United States was a formidable task. It involved coordinating activities with authorities in Greenland, Denmark, and the United States. The police inspector at Thule agreed to help me obtain passports for each of the Hensons and Pearys traveling to the United States, provided I could get photographs of each. Fortunately, I had taken photographs of each of the Hensons and Pearys when I was in Greenland. With the help of my translator Navarana and the police inspector, I managed to get the paperwork completed and passport applications for the thirteen members of the traveling party sent to Copenhagen. This effort was complicated by the fact that most of the men were away from the settlement for weeks on hunts.
The next hurdle was the visa office of the U.S. embassy in Denmark. Because of the unusual nature of the project and the use of military transportation, I had to request special visas for the group. I wrote the U.S. ambassador to Denmark, asking for his help in obtaining special short-term visas. Within about two weeks, the consulate had agreed to grant the group special entry visas. To save time, and because the members of the traveling party had no experience in this process, they even permitted me to complete the visa applications for each member of the group.
“In all my years of foreign service, I have never received a visa application on which the applicant’s profession is listed as ‘retired hunter,’ ” said Lynn Schiveley of the U.S. consulate office in Denmark, when he called to confirm that the applications were being processed. “We all have been very moved by your project, and we have taken a special interest in it here at the embassy. The ambassador and staff want to offer you all the assistance you need.”
“Thank you, Mr. Schiveley. And please thank the ambassador for me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Defeating Tornarsuk
In Polar Eskimo culture, when something goes wrong or when something interferes with the best-laid plans, it is often attributed to the evil spirit Tornarsuk. Such, of course, is the stuff of myth and legend, one of those features of traditional societies we find quaint and colorful. Or so I thought as I prepared to bring Anaukaq, Kali, and their families to the advanced technological world that is the United States of the late twentieth century. By the time our trip was over, however, I would become as much a believer in Tornarsuk as any of my Eskimo friends.
The surface of the heavily packed snow glistened like ground glass under the bright May sun over Moriussaq. Even at a temperature of −20°F, the twenty-four-hour day gave a feeling of warmth. Dogs throughout the settlement barked at the crunch of my boots as I made my way through the snow toward Anaukaq’s igloo.
Anaukaq met me along the path looking somehow different—younger and more vibrant than on my earlier visits. At first I could not figure out just what it was that made him look so changed. He greeted me with a big smile and his characteristic laugh. Then it dawned on me—Anaukaq had new teeth. While in the infirmary that winter, he had asked the Greenlandic health authorities to give him a set of dentures in preparation for his big trip. The infirmary had also provided him with glasses and a hearing aid to help overcome his typical hunter’s hearing loss.
“Allen, I am ready to go with you to Mahri-Pahluk’s homeland now. I look like a younger man now that I have teeth—and a haircut,” he chuckled, rubbing his hand through his newly cropped hair.
“You look great, my friend. Your American relatives will be impressed with your new youthful appearance,” I said, giving my first hint that the trip to America was imminent.
Anaukaq laughed and grabbed my hand. “Welcome back to Moriussaq, Allen. I have been waiting for you every day. Our settlement becomes so quiet when you leave.”
There was a special excitement in the air throughout the settlement. Everyone knew that Anaukaq and his family were going to America, and they were happy for him. Yet Anaukaq was cautious in his optimism. His sealskin bag had been packed for weeks. But after waiting three-quarters of a century for this moment, he would not be certain of the reality of this trip until he set foot on American soil.
Little Aviaq and her favorite cousin, Malina, were also packed and ready to go. Everywhere I went around the settlement, Aviaq tagged along to be certain that I did not leave for America without her.
Anaukaq’s sons Avataq, Ussarkaq, and Ajako were miles from the settlement, hunting for food that would supply their families and dogs during their absence. We had no way of contacting them or knowing when they would return. Kitdlaq and Vittus, the other two sons, were rushing to complete their work in time for the trip.
I hadn’t the slightest idea about Kali’s plans. I wondered whether the Pearys and their English associate had persuaded him not to travel to America after all or, worse, whether they had hurt his feelings. Anaukaq too was concerned about Kali. He had received word of conflicts among the Amer-Eskimo Pearys caused by the outside intervention, and he too had been approached by the Pearys’ associate after my last visit to his settlement.<
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“No one has ever taken any interest in us up here. Now that you are taking us to Mahri-Pahluk’s homeland to see our relatives, some have come up here to photograph us and to ask Kali and his family not to go with you. I do not understand this,” Anaukaq said.
A week passed by without any word from Kali and his family. Anaukaq was also becoming anxious because his sons had not returned from the hunt. We bided our time recording stories of Anaukaq’s impressions of his youth and explanations of Eskimo life.
Several days later, while outside stretching sealskins, we spotted a dogsled on the horizon, mushing toward us at great speed. Normally, the Eskimo children will recognize the driver of the sled hundreds of yards away, from his manner of driving or his dogs or his yells, and shout out his name for the other youngsters and villagers. In this case, however, the children of Moriussaq did not know the sled driver or dogteam.
As the dogsled came closer, we could see that the driver was dressed in full, traditional Eskimo garb, including polar bear skin trousers, anorak, sealskin boots, and a combination of sealskin and polar bear fur mittens. He was raising his whip high and cracking it just above the ears of his dogs. “Wock, wock, wock,” he yelled as he mushed the dogs up the hillside toward the village. When he reached us, he brought the excited dogs to a halt. “Ha-shhh.”
The driver turned to Anaukaq and me and smiled. Even before he pulled back the hood of his anorak, I could tell from his radiant smile that it was Ole, Kali’s grandson. “Whew! I thought I might be too late,” he said, out of breath. “I was out hunting for food for my family and our dogs. Are we still going to America?”
“Of course we are,” I responded, hardly concealing my delight at this first indication that Kali and his family would join us. “Where is Kali?”
“My grandfather left Qeqertarsaaq by dogsled some days ago. He is in Qaanaaq now, but he is coming,” Ole replied.
“Great! Ahunggweelok [Fine]” I said, shaking his hand vigorously. “I am so happy that you are going to join us.”
“Talilanguaq, my father, is coming here also. He wants to travel to America with you, but he is many days out, hunting for seals and walrus, and has not had much success. I hope we can wait for him.”
“We’ll wait for him,” I said with a sigh of relief. “I am just happy that you are going to join us.”
Anaukaq was ecstatic about the news. “I am so happy that my cousin Kali will join us,” he told Ole. “We have waited for this opportunity all of our lives, and now the time is here.”
When Ole parked his sled and secured his dogteam, we all went to Anaukaq’s igloo and sat down to some hot tea, fresh soup, and seal meat.
A few days later, Avataq returned by dogsled to Moriussaq with his ten-year-old son Magssanguaq riding atop several seals they had killed on the hunt. Magssanguaq cuddled his pet puppy as he rode into the settlement.
“Allen!” Avataq shouted, as he and Magssanguaq unloaded the seals and about a dozen kittiwakes tied together. “I am ready to travel to Mahri-Pahluk’s homeland. But Ajako is still out on the ice hunting seals. He should be here in a few days.”
I noticed that the usually active and friendly Magssanguaq appeared sullen and distant. Though already an accomplished hunter, Magssanguaq was still a child at heart. Dressed in his polar bear pants and anorak, he looked like a miniature image of his father. He had taken his one-month-old puppy with him to the hunting grounds for company, and he was now focusing all of his attention on the pup in play and ignoring the people around him entirely. “What’s wrong with Magssanguaq?” I asked Avataq.
“He is sad because I have told him that he cannot go to America with us on this trip,” Avataq said. “I told him maybe he could go on some future trip.”
I knelt down and tried to cheer up little Magssanguaq, but he was not in the best of moods. He did not want his father and grandfather to go away without him and he was sad. “My ahtahtah and my ahtah [grandfather] are going far away, over there,” Magssanguaq said pointing toward Umanak mountain in the south, “and they may not come back.”
“Oh, they will come back,” I reassured him. “They will only be away for about two weeks, and then they will come right back to Moriussaq,” I told him.
“Aviaq is going,” he said, referring to his ten-year-old cousin.
“I know,” I said sympathetically. “She was selected by your family to make this trip. But there will be other trips, and I promise to take you to America to meet your relatives on the next trip. Okay, my little friend?”
Magssanguaq nodded his head, staring down at the puppy in his lap, and softly, but unconvincingly mumbled, “Eee.”
Anaukaq put his arm on Magssanguaq’s shoulder and said, “Come with me, my little peeneeahktoe.” He walked Magssanguaq behind the igloo, out of his father’s sight, where the two of them sat down in old broken chairs. Anaukaq was very fond of little Magssanguaq, who lived in his igloo and whom he had helped to rear.
“Magssanguaq, you are a very good hunter. Your ahtah wants you to become a full-time hunter when you grow up,” Anaukaq told the boy. “You should not try to work for the Danish people in any of these trade jobs—that would not suit you. You must promise me you will be a full-time hunter when you grow up, just like your grandfather and now your father.”
“Eee, ahtah,” Magssanguaq murmured, still looking toward the ground and pulling at the polar bear fur on his trousers.
“Now the first thing a great hunter must learn, no matter how young, is responsibility,” Anaukaq continued. “We would like to take you on this trip, but we cannot. I want you to stay behind this time and take care of the family and look after our dogs. That is a big responsibility.”
“Yes, Grandfather,” he responded.
“We won’t be away long,” Anaukaq said. “Do you think you can look after the rest of the family and the dogteams until your father and I return?”
“Yes, Grandfather,” Magssanguaq replied.
“Allen has said that he will take you to Mahri-Pahluk’s homeland on a future trip. He will keep his word with you just as he did with me.”
Still looking down at the snow, Magssanguaq pulled anxiously at his polar bear fur. Anaukaq rubbed Magssanguaq’s head. “You are a fine grandson,” he said.
While we waited for Kali and the hunters to arrive, I went around the settlement and out to the hunting grounds conducting audiological tests on all the villagers. Everyone was cooperative and enthusiastic about the tests. It was common knowledge among the villagers that the hunters in particular had problems hearing, even in their twenties and thirties. Some young fathers complained about not being able to hear their children’s voices well, a complaint most often made by grandfathers in our society. My results bore them out. I was finding that permanent, high-frequency, “nerve” hearing loss began in the teenage years and became progressively worse through age sixty. Many had severe hearing impairment in both ears by age forty. These were noise-induced hearing losses due primarily to the men’s regular hunting activities with high-caliber rifles. The Polar Eskimo women I tested, who generally do not hunt with rifles, did not have such hearing losses.
I had brought along some special earplugs attached to a necklace that could be hung around the hunter’s neck until he was ready to use them. When he spotted game and was about to shoot, he could put the plugs in his ears to attenuate the gunshot noise reaching his inner ear, then remove the plugs after each shot. By introducing this simple hearing conservation measure, I felt that I could reduce the incidence of hearing impairment in present and future generations of Polar Eskimos.
One afternoon some days later, while I was out on the hunting grounds conducting one of my tests, Ajako’s sons Nukka and Jens came flying across the ice with their father’s dogteam. “Allen, Kali has arrived in Moriussaq,” they shouted as they approached me. “He is with Anaukaq.”
“Fantastic!” I shouted back. “Let’s go back to the settlement to greet your grandfather,” I said to Ole, who had br
ought me out on his dogsled.
We packed my audiometer and other apparatus, and in no time we were off, sledding across the ice at high speed behind eight big running dogs.
Ole was beaming with happiness. He was pleased that his grandfather had chosen to join Anaukaq. On our way back to Moriussaq, he vented his excitement by racing Nukka and Jen’s dogteam.
When we reached Moriussaq, Anaukaq and Kali were sitting outside on a log, basking in the sun and enjoying a cup of coffee. An older woman and friend from the neighborhood had joined them. As I jumped off the sled and ran toward Kali, he greeted me with his outstretched hands and a huge grin. We shook hands and embraced before Kali pulled back and looked me in the eye, saying nothing, just grinning from ear to ear.
“Oh my goodness! Kali, you have new teeth,” I shouted as I finally grasped what he was trying to show me.
We all laughed.
“You didn’t think I was going to let Anaukaq get new teeth and not get some for myself, did you?” Kali chuckled. “We might meet some new wives over there in the United States, and we have to look our best.”
Kali continued to joke, and Anaukaq loved every minute of it. This was the old Kali he had known since childhood—his friend, his cousin. And now he knew for certain that they would fulfill their lifelong dream together.
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