Face the Winter Naked

by Bonnie Turner

  There was that word again! Jean-Paul shouted, “I’m not an okalerk, Chinook!” The pup wiggled again at the sound of his voice, and Jean-Paul hoped it didn’t wet inside his parka. “You stop calling me an okalerk!”

  The three boys roared with laughter.

  “Go away,” Jean-Paul said. “Pa will come—”

  Chinook brushed snow from his hair. “And your pa will say, ‘What very nice friends you have, Jean-Paul, dear!’”

  Tears sprang into Jean-Paul’s eyes, but he looked at the ground so they wouldn’t see. Then the pup yelped.

  Nanuk moved quickly and yanked open Jean-Paul’s parka. The pup jumped out and landed in the snow. Aiverk picked up the squirming ball of fluff.

  “Just a pup!” His eyes narrowed, and he tried to look mean. “Where did you steal the pup, Okalerk?”

  “I didn’t steal her!” Jean-Paul reached for the pup, but Aiverk jerked it away. “Please, Aiverk, give her back! I didn’t steal her, she’s mine.”

  Chinook scratched the pup’s head. “Nice dog, Jean-Paul. You must have taken it from someone. Why else would you hide it?”

  Jean-Paul was really crying now, and he didn’t care who saw.

  “I—I was just keeping her warm,” he said. “I didn’t want her to get cold.” He reached out again. “I want my dog back, Aiverk!”

  “Give the baby his dog,” said Nanuk. “We got better things to do.”

  Aiverk gave the wiggly pup back to Jean-Paul. “Here, take your stolen dog, Okalerk. I don’t want to be caught with something you stole.”

  “If you were bigger and meaner and stronger,” said Nanuk with a laugh, “you could join the Ice Patrol. But we don’t want a crying sissy in our club, right guys?”

  “Frozen Eyeballs would be a good name for him,” chuckled Aiverk. “Frozen Okalerk Eyeballs!”

  Jean-Paul tried to ignore their taunts. He put the pup back inside his coat and turned to leave. Having his father find him with the dog would be better than being teased to death.

  From the direction of the river came the sudden roar of an engine. It sputtered a few times, then died. Finally, it caught and raced up powerfully.

  Chinook shouted, “Hey it’s the plane! Come on, let’s go watch it take off!”

  Jean-Paul had also wished to see the aircraft lift off from its runway on the frozen river, but he sighed with relief as the boys tore off around the corner of the building. For one thing, they wouldn’t tease him any more that day. For another, it had started snowing a few weeks before. Soon it would be nearly impossible to fly into or out of the Northwest Territories.

  “You’re safe,” he told the pup. “I’m going to take care of you now.”

  It was nearly dark when Jean-Paul left his hiding place. He hadn’t meant to stay away so long, but he also hadn’t planned to return to the trading post until he was sure the traders were gone.

  The main street of Aklavik was almost deserted. As he walked back to the Hudson’s Bay trading post, a sickening feeling nudged into Jean-Paul’s throat. He had never lied to his father. But he had already thought up a good one.

  Jean-Paul did not have to look far for Cordell. The tall, wide-shouldered man with thick black hair and a bushy beard tromped down the steps of the trading post. He strode quickly to his son and faced him with his huge hands on his hips. It was almost too dark to see the man’s eyes, but Jean-Paul knew they’d be flashing fire.

  “Where have you been?” Cordell roared.

  Knowing how angry and worried his father must be, Jean-Paul could do nothing but stare at the ground. He shuffled the toes of his boots in the snow. Words got stuck in his throat.

  Cordell knelt and took Jean-Paul’s shoulders. “Jean-Paul, son, look at me!” At that moment, Cordell saw Jean-Paul’s parka move. “Eh? What have you got in there?”

  “This little old pup…” Jean-Paul whispered. “This here little pup got away. And—and I had to go find her.”

  The awful lie was out.

  Jean-Paul tried to struggle away from his father, but Cordell held tightly to one shoulder. With the other hand, he unfastened his son’s parka and looked down at the ball of silvery fur that poked a fuzzy head out.

  Cordell stared at the animal for a moment without speaking. He reached down and scratched a soft little ear. He looked back at Jean-Paul. “The runt, eh?” Cordell released Jean-Paul’s shoulder and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Son, you know the money from this pup would have brought us a meal for some cold, dark night.”

  “But she was running away, Pa! And you said yourself she won’t make a good sled dog. You said she’s too small. You said so!”

  Jean-Paul set the squirming pup on the ground, and she promptly made a yellow, wet spot in the snow. He picked her up again before she could wander off, cuddling her beneath his chin.

  Cordell rose and put an arm around Jean-Paul. He led him to the freight sled, which was already loaded with supplies from the trading post. “I suspect that pup never ran away,” Cordell said. “I think you wanted to keep her for a pet, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jean-Paul was relieved. It hadn’t been as bad as he had thought it would be. Still, he felt awful about the lie. It wasn’t much fun having your stomach churn, and waiting in fear for someone to find out. Now it was over.

  Cordell looked sternly at Jean-Paul as he settled him onto the sled with the pup in his lap. “There’s not much we can do about it now, eh? I suppose you heard the plane take off.”

  “Yes, sir, I heard something.”

  “I suppose you planned it that way.”

  Jean-Paul was tired of lying. He crossed his fingers and said quietly, “Yes, I did that, Pa. I’m sorry.”

  The sledge was fully loaded, with barely enough room for Jean-Paul. Cordell tucked the robe around the boy’s shoulders. “You’ve got a pup for the winter,” he said. “But when the traders return next spring, she’ll have to go.”

  Jean-Paul nodded, clutching the pup tightly against his chest.

  Cordell checked the traces running from the sled to the dog team. Then he went to the back of the sled and picked up his long leather whip. With a flip of his wrist, he cracked it sharply overhead. The whip unfurled and flew through the cold air, touching down just inches from Tork’s nose.

  The zing of the whip brought Tork to his feet with a joyful yelp. He threw back his great black head and howled, then turned to look at Cordell and Jean-Paul with what appeared to be a nice, wide smile on his muzzle. Dozing one moment, he was now wide awake. The whip meant work, and work was what Tork knew best. Siko and Lishta also sprang to their feet to dance around in the snow. They, too, raised their voices to the wind, impatient to be off. Cordell snapped the whip again. “Hah! Hah! Go, you huskies!”

  The powerful dogs leaped out ahead of their harnesses, straining against their breast bands. The sled began moving, slowly at first, then faster and faster on the slick runners that Cordell had iced earlier that morning.

  After the first hard jolt, which nearly threw him off the sled, Jean-Paul leaned back to enjoy the ride. As Cordell pushed off, the sled gave way to a speeding ride over slippery, well-worn trails that wound through the main street of Aklavik, past the hospital, the trading post, the boarding house. Soon, it headed into open country, away from the tree line and the three large branches of the Mackenzie River. Traveling westward, the sound of runners slishing over snow was the only sound heard in the vast, frozen quiet. Once in a while, Cordell whistled or yelled at the team. Sometimes he ran beside the sled. Other times he rode on the back so he could operate the hand brake.

  Those were sounds Jean-Paul loved to hear. One day, unless his lameness prevented it, he, too, would be captain of his own team and run behind a sled.

  Now, the pup tried to free herself, twisting her pointed ears sideways like small radio antennae, to listen. She whined.

  “You’d like to run with them!” Jean-Paul laughed. “It’s in your blood to run!” He rubbed a silky ear as he spoke. The pup look
ed into his face, her pale blue eyes alert and intelligent. Jean-Paul hugged her closely as darkness fell.

  Strange dark shapes of snow banks and drifts slid past on each side. Ahead lay endless miles of untamed land, broken only by occasional sledge tracks. Stretching as far as the eye could see, toward Yukon Territory, were mounds of crusty snow that reminded Jean-Paul of frosted peaks on a birthday cake.

  Night brought a loneliness that only those living near the top of the world can know. The snow had stopped falling. The air was crisp and clear. There was a closed-in feeling beneath a black dome of sky, as though someone had turned a bowl of stars upside down.

  Up ahead lay an enormous igloo that had suddenly appeared one day. Jean-Paul didn’t know who had built it.

  “It’s haunted by an old man and six wolves,” Chinook had said one day in school. “He builds it every year, but no one has ever seen him.”

  “Then how do you know he’s there,” Jean-Paul had asked Chinook, “if no one has ever seen him?”

  “We just do,” Chinook replied. “It’s something you have to believe—if you want to keep your head.” He zipped a finger across his throat like a knife. “They say the wolves are two-hundred pounds each, with bloody fangs six inches long.”

  “You’re just trying to scare me!” Jean-Paul had said. As far as he knew, there were no wolves that big.

  And Nanuk had said, “Sometimes you can hear those ghost wolves howling! Owoooo-o-o-o! But you’re too scared to go in there, Jean-Paul Okalerk!”

  Well, that part was true. But Jean-Paul had answered, “I’m no more scared than you guys are!”

  Sometimes, while passing the igloo on a bitterly cold and windy night with his father, Jean-Paul thought he really could hear those wolves howling. If only he were as brave as the other boys!

  Now, as Cordell’s team raced by the haunted igloo, a wolf howl filled the night air. Owoo-o-o-o. On a clear night above the Arctic Circle, sound travels for many miles. Tork, Siko, and Lishta took up the cry till they were well past the haunted igloo. But this night Jean-Paul did not feel lonely or afraid. His father was in command, and he was too happy to worry. He snuggled inside the warm polar bear robe and whispered to the pup.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let them take you when spring comes. By that time you’ll be pulling in harness as well as your mother.”

  Jean-Paul yawned and glanced up at the sky just in time to see the silvery trail of a star disappear over the horizon. Last night he had seen the dancing green phantoms of the Northern Lights, flashing and shifting mysteriously in the night sky. The two coming one after the other could be a good sign.

  (Continued)

  Spirit Lights (sequel to The Haunted Igloo)

  http://www.amazon.com/SPIRIT-LIGHTS-Sequel-Haunted-ebook/dp/B002HWS844/ref=pd_sim_kinc_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

  A coming-of-age novel for fans of Gary Paulsen, Scott O'Dell & Jack London. Returning to the Arctic after a two-year absence, 12-year-old Jean-Paul has overcome his fear of the dark, but discovers his best Inuit friend is terrified of the Northern Lights. One frigid night, after searching by dogsled for a crashed plane, Jean-Paul hears tinkling sounds from a bright aurora overhead. Chinook and his girl Kunee say the spirits in the lights are speaking, warning of danger. But Jean-Paul knows auroras can’t talk! Or can they? Polar bears, huskies, auroras that speak—and danger in the Arctic. (Ages 9 & up)

  Chapter 1

  The Snowbird banked sharply, tracking the Mackenzie River northwest toward Aklavik. For the past hour, strong winds had pitched the small plane like a toy, forcing the pilot to fly at a lower altitude. Soon it would have to land, before the wind ripped off the wings. It was early November, 1936, and snow was falling in Canada’s Northwest Territories. In a few weeks, the sun would sink below the horizon, not to reappear until next January.

  Jean-Paul wondered if they were north of the Arctic Circle yet. He knew there were mountains below, but he couldn’t see them through the fogged-over window. The plane bounced and rattled so much in the wind that he imagined it was falling apart, and when a stronger jolt came, he grabbed his lap belt and looked at his mother, sitting nearby with her eyes closed. His little brother, Pierre, had fallen asleep on her lap. How could anyone be so calm when the plane was about to drop out from under them? With his stomach in his mouth, Jean-Paul turned to his father as Cordell returned from speaking with the pilot.

  “I don’t like this, Pa!” He touched the safety belt to make sure it was still buckled. “It feels like we’re falling!”

  “Try not to worry,” Cordell said. “Jack’s used to flying in this kind of weather. He’ll keep us safe.”

  Cordell Ardoin patted his son’s shoulder, then took a seat next to his wife. Lise opened her eyes and looked at him.

  “We’re about to land,” he said, taking Pierre onto his lap. “Come to Papa, sleepyhead.”

  “I’ll be glad to stand again,” Lise said. “My legs are numb!”

  Pierre struggled in his father’s strong arms. “Sit Paul!” he cried.

  “You’ll sit with Papa,” Cordell said. “The airplane’s flying down like a big bird!”

  Pierre found his father’s new pocket watch, which would likely freeze stiff after a few days of arctic weather. It would keep him busy while they landed.

  Lise looked over at Jean-Paul. “Are you excited?” she asked.

  “I’ll bet nobody remembers me,” Jean-Paul said, “not even my own dog.”

  Two years before, he had left his husky, Sasha, with his friend Chinook when Cordell’s job was finished and they returned to Quebec. A lot could happen in that length of time. She could even be dead.

  Jean-Paul glanced at the window when the plane nosed downward, and waited for the skis to touch the frozen river. At the last minute, he snapped his eyes shut. He opened them again and took a deep breath as the Snowbird taxied to a stop and the engine shut down.

  He unfastened his belt and started to stand, then slammed back into the seat when a strong gust of wind lifted the tail of the plane. “I don’t like flying in storms!” he said.

  Cordell gave Pierre back to Lise. “I’ll go see how bad it is out there.”

  A blast of wind filled the cabin when he opened the door and climbed out into the storm. The pilot left the cockpit and followed Cordell outside.

  Jean-Paul pulled a special boot over his crooked foot. When he lived in Aklavik before, the Inuit boys had called him Okalerk—arctic hare—because his walk made them think of a rabbit. But after making friends with them he got used to the name, even liked it. Still, his limp was the first thing people noticed about him.

  After a few minutes, Cordell returned, stomping his size fourteen feet and shaking snow from his parka.

  “Brrr! It’s a vicious storm!”

  Lise stuffed Pierre into his snowsuit, then pulled her mittens on. “I feel like I left part of myself in the Arctic and I’m about to find it again.”

  Cordell nodded. “I understand what you mean. I think I gave something back to the land that let me survive its climate.”

  Lise turned to Jean-Paul. “Coming, dear?”

  Jean-Paul grabbed his bag of books and the hard candy his grandparents had given him and headed for the door.

  Cordell helped his family out of the plane. He took Pierre from Lise and yelled, “Head for shelter!”

  Jean-Paul met the storm head-on. The wind whistled and swirled snow into his face. Sharp frost granules slashed their way inside his hood, clawing at his nose, ears, and chin. He blinked to clear his vision and plowed straight ahead.

  It wasn’t far from the runway to the control shack, but the uphill walk made the distance seem longer. He could barely see his family slogging through the snow ahead of him. Then a door burst open, flooding him with light and warmth.

  The boy’s spirits soared when he saw an Inuit with a large white husky by his side. He dropped his bag on the floor and hurried across the room, calling his friend’s name.

  “Chin
ook!”

  The man’s husky bared its fangs, and Jean-Paul’s smile died as he realized his mistake.

  The room swirled. Time stood still, and blood rushed to his face. He had made a fool of himself. Eager to see his dog, he’d thrown himself at a strange husky.

  Keeping his eyes on the snarling dog, he backed away carefully and rejoined his parents. He stared down at the puddle of snow-melt on the plank floor, then turned his attention to the others. Dr. Jim Morgan was there with his granddaughter, Alice, a nurse.

  The brutal climate had carved a few more lines in the old doctor’s face, but his white hair was still thick and full. Above piercing gray eyes sprouted enough eyebrow brush to hide four ptarmigan nests, a den of foxes, sixty lemmings, and a grizzly bear—according to Chinook.

  “Welcome back!” Dr. Morgan held out his hand. “We’ve missed you!”

  “Hello, Dr. Morgan.” Jean-Paul shook the doctor’s hand, then turned to Alice. “Is Chinook here?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Alice said. “But I’m sure you’ll see him soon.”

  Alice’s presence wiped out the last two years. It was like Jean-Paul had never been away at all.

  “Chinook talked about you all the time,” Alice said. “He often helped out at the hospital, and even spoke of becoming a doctor. But he never forgot his friend, Okalerk!”

  “Most Eskimos settle down to raise families,” Dr. Morgan said. “Did you know Eskimo boys can marry at fifteen?”

  Jean-Paul shifted his eyes from one person to the other. “You must be joking, Dr. Morgan! I don’t think Chinook would want to get married yet. He’s fifteen already, but he’s still a kid like me.” Jean-Paul had turned twelve last March.

  “No joke,” the doctor said. “Perhaps he’ll explain it to you.”

  Alice put her arm around the boy. “Did you have a good time in Quebec?”

  “I was glad to see Grandmère and Grandpère,” Jean-Paul said, “but they complained about us moving to Canada’s icebox.”