Polar Boy

by Sandy Fussell

  While we wait behind the blinds, the women and children will run screaming and yelling to send the frightened animals blundering into our arrows.

  “We will fell five,” Papa decides.

  Five is a good number. One hand finished when counting. It’s important to take only what you use, but after a long bleak winter, we can use as much as we can carry.

  Finn and I quickly build a mound of ice. When all the walls are complete, we slink back to the sleds and hurry down the trail. Spying the half-built igloos ahead, I forget I’m almost a man and run whooping like a boy. I don’t stop until Miki sticks her foot out and I sprawl face first into the snow.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. Anyway, I owed you one,” she says, laughing as she helps me to my feet. “What did you see?”

  Eager children crowd around. Even Tuaq wants to hear about the herd while he smirks at my snow-smeared nose.

  “I saw hundreds and hundreds of caribou,” I brag. Finn pokes me in the ribs.

  “You did not,” Tuaq interrupts. “There were twenty-eight.”

  “What do you care? You won’t be hunting.” Drawing the string on an imaginary bow, I send my arrow straight towards Tuaq.

  His glare catches the pretend arrow and snaps it in half.

  “You couldn’t hit a caribou if it stood in front of you and waited. Iluak, the great hunter. You fell in when you tried to catch a seal,” Tuaq sneers. “Without me to intercede with the spirits, your arrows will sink in sludge. The only thing you’ll catch is a cold.” Laughing, he turns his back and walks away. “You want to be careful no one sneezes over you,” he calls.

  My jaw drops open, wide enough for a snow goose to build a nest inside. How did he know? He must have seen Massak sneeze on me.

  “I will get a caribou. I’ll show him.” Miki looks convinced but the rest of my audience is drifting away. “I’m a good hunter,” I protest.

  “Very good,” Finn agrees. Even with so few words he can still make me feel better.

  Papa draws a map in the snow to show Nana where the mounds are.

  “You’re not going to run, are you?” I ask. Nana’s old legs crackle and crinkle like dried sealskin.

  “No. I’ll stay here with Tuaq. You’re a good boy to worry about your old grandmother.” Her eyes sparkle. Young eyes. Naughty child eyes.

  “Let’s go,” Papa yells, waving us back up the track.

  Dragging our meat sleighs behind us, we circle even wider around the herd. They watch and fidget, but foolishly, they’re not afraid. “Only the fearful survive”, Nana often says. If that’s true, it’s good news for me. I’ll live forever.

  Finn and I crouch behind our wall.

  “Aim for the throat,” Papa reminds us. “If your arrow flies true, then the caribou spirit will roam free.”

  We nod. It’s important not to leave an animal wounded. If the spirit suffers, revenge will visit our village. Everyone knows the story of the man who let a caribou run with his arrow in its side. The man and his village were swallowed by the ice. Never to be seen again. There’s always something to be afraid of.

  “Good hunting, Iluak. Good hunting, Finn,” Papa says, as he walks the line, checking all the walls.

  “Good hunting, Papa,” I respond.

  “Good hunting,” Finn echoes.

  Yee-ah! Yah! Yee-ah! Geese honk, walruses bellow, seals bark. The women are coming, driving the caribou up the path to run between our walls of ice.

  Loudest of all, I hear Nana’s owl-like screech. I should have known. Nana doesn’t need legs to run where her spirit can fly.

  The ground shakes.

  “I’d run too, if I heard that noise,” I whisper.

  Finn doesn’t answer. He stands motionless, his white hair bright against the ice. Only his blue eyes move, tracking the approach of the herd. Hands trembling, we hold our bows ready, string stretched and arrow nocked.

  One buck passes so close I could launch myself forward and ride on its back like a sled. But instead, I let my shaft fly.

  Phlock. The soft thud of whalebone embedded in flesh. My caribou falters, stumbling knees first, into the snow. Thump. The crunch of bone against ice.

  Phlock. A second deer falls. One for me and one for Finn.

  As soon as the herd passes, I rush onto the trail. Kneeling, I look my caribou in the eye, thanking him for his sacrifice. I wish he could get up again and run on but my village needs the clothes, food and tools his body can provide.

  He staggers onto his knees, antler bent toward me. I know how he feels, the cold numbing his body beyond pain. His great head is so close. If I could sing, our throats would be joined in song. He crumples at my feet. Finally dead.

  Sitting in the snow, cradling his head in my arms, I send his soul soaring high.

  Five caribou lie in the snow. Quickly, we strip the hides and pack the meat sleigh. Now our snowshoes shout and celebrate. The younger boys run ahead to announce our triumph.

  Like circling wolves, the women pounce to cut and divide the spoils equally between all the families. But some parts belong to the hunter alone. Carefully, Nana removes the antler from the head of my deer.

  “The spirit of the great caribou,” she proclaims, holding it high for everyone to admire.

  My heart spreads its wings and flies beyond the sky. I’m a hunter now.

  “Behold, a story stick fit to guide a shaman through the darkness,” Nana calls.

  With a flourish, she hands my antler to Tuaq. My first antler and she’s given it away! It should be mine, to wave proudly in Tuaq’s face.

  No-o-o-o. My heart screams, free-falling into the snow. It lies there, bleeding, like the caribou.

  “You have to trust Nana.” Miki gently takes my arm. But it’s hard to trust someone who has just broken your heart.

  Finn doesn’t even notice. He’s drawing in the snow, pictures of the women driving the caribou. “Look,” he calls, bending excitedly over his artwork. “Like chasing dogs.”

  “They don’t look like Mush to me,” I grump.

  “Don’t be stupid.” Miki grinds my foot against the ice to remind me it’s not Finn’s fault I’m angry. “You know he means the caribou are being guided just like a pack of dogs.”

  “Bring Nana,” Finn insists.

  I shake my head. Not even he can make me talk to her now. But she hears anyway.

  “Let’s have a look.” Nana tips her head sideways so she can see differently. “That’s a very good idea, Finn. Maybe a village could keep its own herd of caribou, just like a pack of dogs.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh. “Maybe the caribou could pull the sled.”

  Finn doesn’t see the joke. He nods excitedly, before running to tell Papa.

  I don’t think it’s a good idea at all. A herd of caribou is not a pack of dogs. You can’t take them with you when you travel. But I’m not going to tell Nana that. My lips are frozen shut.

  But you don’t need words to have a conversation with Nana. She shakes her finger at me. “Anything is possible, Iluak. Where is your imagination?”

  It’s where it always is – out on the ice, imagining bears. I shiver.

  “It is cold,” Nana agrees. “Will you fetch me a blanket and my ceremonial drum?”

  Racing round to our igloo, I’m glad to get away. I love Nana but I’m not ready to forgive her yet.

  Smack. Bodies crunch.

  “Watch where you’re going,” Tuaq snaps. “I nearly poked my eye out with my new story stick.”

  “Maybe it’s too good for you,” I sneer. I didn’t get to wave the antler in his face but at least I poked him in the eye.

  “It is a very good stick,” he admits.

  Why is he being nice to me? I wait for the insult to follow.

  He fidgets. I scrape my boot in the snow. Crack. We’re still not friends but something has changed. Small movements. Like ice shifting. Crack. Perhaps he’s not as bad as I think.

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  “Yeah, wel
l, don’t think I’m handing it over,” he snarls. “I don’t even like you.”

  “I don’t like you either,” I snap.

  “Then get out of my way,” he says, shoving past.

  Darkness is falling and the work is done. Now Nana’s drumbeat will echo across the ice to sing in tune with the sky. It will make us feel safe. But Nana hands her drum to Tuaq.

  “I’m tired,” she says. “I’m going to rest.”

  Grinning at me, he raises my antler high.

  Look what I’ve got, his eyes say.

  Give it back, my eyes flash.

  Smirking, Tuaq closes his lids on our conversation. I can’t believe I ever thought I liked him.

  Anger runs hot through my heart. Barging into our igloo, I’m ready to yell at Nana. An ice queen is beyond questioning but I hurt too much to care. My lip shakes. Tears pour down my face.

  “Why?” I croak.

  “The two of you are bound together like dogs in a sled harness.” Nana wipes my face with her sleeve.

  Outside, a new voice and drumbeat struggle against the elements.

  Aya.

  Aya. Aya-yah.

  Yah-a. Aya. Aya-a.

  “I’m glad you and Tuaq are becoming friends,” Nana says.

  “We’re not,” I mutter against her chest. “I don’t like him and he doesn’t like me.”

  “Sometimes friendship is like caribou string. You stretch and twist, and pull it in an opposite direction until it’s strong enough to last forever.”

  I shake my head. “Finn is my friend. It’s not like that at all.”

  Ahhh-ahh. Nana sighs. “Other times friendship is like warm soup. You would give an ear just to feel its warmth in your blood.”

  I press my nose to Nana’s chest. Her parka smells like soup and I feel warm.

  Outside, the wind howls louder and the drumming rises to meet it. Pictures form inside my head. The bears wait, their backs to the blizzards. And far across the ice, my cub wakes, stretches and sniffs my footprints.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE WEASEL

  I snuggle deep into my sleeping bag. Thump-thum-thum. The sound of Tuaq’s drum weaves between the igloos, binding our families together. I hate to admit it but Nana is right; for the moment, my deer antler is in the right place. I’ll get it back later.

  Papa snores and Nana makes little whistling sounds through the gap in her front teeth, filling the room with comfortable noises. Baby Massak coughs. Thum-thum. Drumbeat. Heartbeat. Icebeat. The village breathes and dreams with each antler stroke of the drum.

  Almost warm, I close my eyes to sleep.

  When I open them again, it’s dark. Not the dark of long winter days without sun, but the deep blackness of night when no one is supposed to be awake. Stillness hangs heavy and low, pressing hard against my chest. I’m more afraid when I can’t hear anything. Something is always out there. I just haven’t heard it yet.

  Scritch. Scritch-scritch. The soft scratch of claws on ice. A little sound. I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s only a lemming looking for food. It can probably smell Mama’s leftover stew.

  But sounds always grow bigger and louder when you listen hard. Especially in the middle of the night. In my imagination, the scraping grows until great claws rake the snow and the lemming looms huge and white. The polar bear roars to get in.

  “You’re being stupid,” I whisper to myself through chattering teeth. “You are not frightened, you’re only cold,” I tell my teeth. But they don’t listen. “There is nothing out there.” Pulling the fox fur up around my ears, I count caribou but each one transforms into a bear. I’ll never get any sleep tonight unless I go outside to prove I’m not afraid of my own imagination. In the morning, when I tell Miki and Finn about it, we’ll laugh together. It’ll be a funny story then.

  I feel better already as I wriggle out of my sleeping bag. Careful not to wake Miki, I crawl noiselessly through the tunnel to emerge onto the ice. The stars wink down but I don’t wink back. I know they’re not on my side. They whisper in Nana’s ear, telling her about bears and what I must do.

  The sound is coming from further round the igloo, nearest to where I rest my head. No wonder it echoed so loud in my ear!

  Lemmings can’t see very well. If I move quietly, I might be able to catch it. Then Mama will make me new mittens. My story gets better all the time. Miki will be jealous when she hears about my lemming mittens. She’ll want some too–

  The story freezes mid sentence.

  As I open my mouth to scream, the bear impales me with its shiny eyes. Sheer terror is speechless and silence crushes my lungs.

  Edging back towards the igloo entrance, my boots crunch softly in the ice. The sky soaks up the sound but the stars send it booming back. Look at him. He’s getting away, they yell.

  Snarling, the bear rears up on two legs. Teeth. Claws. Saliva dripping.

  I run as fast as I can. But backwards is never a good direction. Klunk. Klunk-tunk. Bottom over heels, I land in the pile of half-unpacked pots and pans at the door. The startled bear drops onto four feet, backing away. Panic-driven, I scramble into the igloo tunnel.

  Wheezing and gasping for breath, I curl up, hugging my knees to my chest. In-out. In-out. I force my lungs to breathe. Even inside our igloo, I don’t feel safe any more. The bears are tracking me again. If only I knew what they wanted, I would throw it to them. How can I save my people when I can barely save myself?

  I wish Tuaq was still drumming because I felt protected then.

  In the morning Nana wants to talk but I don’t want to hear what she has to say. I’m not in the mood for bears. I’m tired and my head aches from not enough sleep.

  “Lousy drumming. Kept me awake all night,” I grumble.

  Nana smiles shrewdly. “Is that so?”

  I should know better than to lie to Nana but now I’m stuck. “Yes, it is.”

  “Come sit with me, Iluak.” She takes her story stick from her belt.

  Shaking my head, I edge away. “I can’t. Papa needs me.”

  Nana’s eyes narrow. “Papa needs you now?”

  “Yes,” I mumble, looking down, not brave enough to look into her eyes again.

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.” I know how the fish feels, flopping at the end of the hunter’s line.

  “I see.” Nana measures her words and the hook slips into place. “Your father needs your help to sit and sleep.”

  Papa dozes beside the igloo entrance.

  “It seems you have time to draw after all.” Nana pulls on the line and reels me in.

  “Sorry, Nana. I’m so stupid,” I sigh.

  Putting her arm around me, Nana smiles. “That’s good. Great bravery requires great stupidity. Who else would stand in front of a bear?”

  Does she know about last night? I search Nana’s face for clues and she winks back.

  But Mama sees only the startled look in my eyes.

  “Ananaksaq! Are you frightening Illy again? Must we talk about bears before breakfast?”

  “Better to talk on an empty stomach,” Nana grins. “Makes a lot less mess.” She puts the story stick in my hands.

  I don’t know why I try to run. There’s never any escape. Next time I see a bear, I’m going to lie down in front of it. Maybe it just wants me dead. At least it’ll be over then. I know what I want. I want all the bears to go away and I don’t want to be responsible for my people’s future.

  Obediently, I scratch a squiggle in the snow.

  “That’s not a bear,” Miki says. “It’s a boat. Iluak is going on a journey.”

  “Of course he is.” Mama nods. “Papa is taking him whaling.”

  I smile at them both, relief all over my face. Mama wakes Papa and we eat breakfast. Uncle belches and Papa slurps. Nana picks her teeth with a piece of whalebone. I like the way every morning begins with the same ritual. It’s safe.

  But Papa is a great hunter. When he creeps, even the big-eared hare doesn’t hear a thing.

&
nbsp; “What were you doing out on the ice last night, Iluak?” Papa asks suddenly.

  Miki stares and Mama’s brow furrows with displeasure. Luckily, Nana rescues me.

  “Leave the boy alone,” she says. “He cannot help it when the bear calls him. But one day, we will all be glad it did.”

  Papa doesn’t like it but he nods respectfully. “I worry about my children, Ananaksaq. But I trust you.” He passes his empty plate to Mama. “We should be at the coast by lunch.”

  Reprieved, I shovel the last of my food into my mouth. “Hurry up, Miki. Let’s go find Finn.” Why must girls always eat so slowly? Why can’t she up-end her bowl and tip it in like Papa and me? I’m ready to tell my story now. I’ll make the bear bigger and I’ll be braver, of course. Finn will be impressed and Miki will be proud to have me as a brother.

  Outside, the sky drizzles with snow.

  Miki punches me in the arm. “That’s for not telling me about it.”

  “Owww. I was going to tell you. I was waiting to tell Finn too.”

  Tuaq and Finn are standing together, looking out through the sleet. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Finn is my friend. “My shadow”, Mama calls him. But now whenever Finn’s with Nana, he’s spending time with Tuaq as well.

  “Iluak went out into the snow. All by himself with a bear,” Tuaq says, before I get a chance to speak.

  I glare. My story is ruined. I’d like to blame Tuaq and say it was his fault that his drumming kept me awake. But it’s not true. I liked the drumming. And I’ve already been caught lying once this morning.

  “Very brave,” Finn says, looking at me with admiring eyes. My chest puffs beneath his gaze. Maybe my story can be rescued after all.

  “Very stupid.” Miki crushes my chest flat.

  “Same thing. Bravery and stupidity.” Tuaq shrugs, restoring my dignity with Nana’s words.

  Maybe he’s not so bad after all. Not a friend, but not an enemy either.

  “What are you two looking at?” I ask, changing the subject.

  Finn points to where a dark shape moves across the snow. Even far away I can see it’s a man.

  It’s not the first time a stranger walked in from the snow. That’s how Finn’s father came to live with us. Sometimes a man chooses to leave his village and wander alone, hoping to find a new group. But there’s something suspicious about this one. He’s going in the wrong direction. No one walks away from the coast in summer – not when they have a choice.