The Wolf Man

by Sandra Clark

  In view of their previous encounters it seemed only to be expected that this would be the inevitable outcome of any further meeting. She had half expected it to end badly. That was why she had gone overboard in her attempt to flatter and cajole Barron into helping her. Given what she had known of him already, perhaps it had been a silly approach. On the other hand, it was easy to be wise after the event. Belinda was a girl who, if she had set her mind to it, could have twisted any man round her little finger, but she had always preferred independence, not wanting to be beholden to any man, until Derek. By then she had been so weak and confused, she had clung to him out of pain rather than in any calculating way, in order to get anything from him. Now she was strong and independent again, and despised the use of feminine wiles to obtain things which she could get quite simply by shifting for herself.

  Resolutely she marched into the shadow of the trees. Already the daylight was fading quickly and it would soon be dark. She would damn well show Barron she could do without his help! She'd get on to Taqaq right away, and they would set out with provisions in the direction of the place where the Nasaq were last seen. Someone somewhere would surely be able to give them a clue.

  At that moment she became aware of a small figure hurrying along the path towards her, and as it came closer she realised it was the girl Ikluk. She was struggling along with a bundle of furs in her arms, intent on the path, her eyes downcast beneath the fur hood. As the two girls drew level Belinda waited for the girl to look up. A word of greeting was already on her lips, but to her surprise the girl merely glanced briefly in her direction, her eyes dull with some look of unfathomable indifference, and with no sound, was off down the path towards Barron's house.

  'Huh!' thought Belinda. 'So much for the friendly Eskimo. I'm glad they're not all so taciturn.' She felt piqued by the girl's unfriendliness and turned back to watch her hurrying out beyond the trees.

  The girl had not altered her speed at all, and a sudden thought jumped into Belinda's mind. With a puzzled frown she watched as the girl reached the edge of the wood and started to make out across the lichen-covered ground towards the hut. Almost without thinking Belinda moved casually into the shadow of a tree and watched as Ikluk approached the hut. She was almost there when she called out loudly, 'Amaruq! Amaruq!' At once the door flap was lifted. She seemed to pause for a moment, then Barron came out. He stood outside for a moment while the girl said something to him, then he took the bundle she was carrying and went back inside. The girl followed and the flap dropped down behind her.

  Intrigued by this, Belinda waited a moment. She had no intention of spying, heaven knew. Why should she spy on such a man? What Barron did was his own concern. But she felt powerfully intrigued to think that he had some personal contact with people from the settlement. She remembered the sudden lowering of voices as he had approached a group gossiping outside the store shed, and the nature of his relationship with Ikluk began to interest her mightily. Was the girl perhaps selling him already treated furs for the approaching freeze? But why, if he was the trapper he was supposed to be? Why else should she bring furs to him? What sort of transaction was now taking place inside the hut? Belinda held herself in readiness for the girl's appearance, prepared to carry on up the path back to the settlement the moment she came out, but the door flap remained resolutely shut.

  Impatient to be off, Belinda turned, but suddenly checking, she looked back once again towards the hut. What if she walked casually by? Would she hear the murmur of voices from within? Undoubtedly Barron spoke such fluent Eskimo that there would be no point in the girl trying to practise her English. Perhaps he gave informal language lessons to those who wanted them? Perhaps he was trying to perfect his own grasp of the regional dialect? What else from a man like him, so trenchantly determined to go native? He was native in dress, in choice of home, in speech… Belinda's blood froze. He lived the Arctic life so thoroughly, as she had seen, this man, with a man's needs—and now the girl, calling out so familiarly—Belinda felt as if the ground had opened at her feet. Suddenly she had to get away. She found herself running, half stumbling, only vaguely conscious of the direction in which she was plunging, driven along by the urgency of her desire to escape. 'Amaruq'—the word beat inside her head like a hammer. What did it mean? What had the girl been calling?

  Breathless, Belinda came at last to a halt on the track leading along the edge of the lake. She forced herself to walk slowly, struggling to regain her breath, collecting her teeming thoughts, trying to calm the chaos of her emotions. Her wrists still smarted from where Barron had held her and she knew her hair had become dishevelled by her mad rush through the wood. Pausing for a moment by the grey lake's edge, she tried to tidy herself up, to bring some calm and reason to her mind. When she felt sufficiently composed she started to wend her way back to the house. Even though it was early afternoon, daylight was rapidly fading and the glow of gas lamps shone out softly from the stores. Careful to avoid meeting anyone, she made her way quickly up to her room and closed her door. 'Amaruq,' she repeated, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

  She lay back on the blue check quilt. 'Amaruq!' Now she thought about it she remembered hearing a similar word some days previously in the clubhouse. But what had been the context for that particular word? She wrinkled her brow, forcing herself to think hard. It had been when Taqaq had been telling her about a polar bear hunt. Slowly it began to come back to her. 'Nanuq,' he had said, 'polar bear,' and when she had asked the names of other beasts he had reeled four or five of them off so quickly she had scarcely had time to jot them down.

  Now she sat up with a feeling that was something like relief. She was sure that was it. She went over to her worktable and began to search through the bits of card and scraps of old envelope on which she daily listed new vocabulary. She scanned them rapidly, dropping them any old how on to the bed until she found the card she wanted. Yes, here it was. Tuktu—she squinted at her scribbled jottings—tuktu meant caribou. And here was another—siksik, ground squirrel—pangniq, bull caribou, amaruq—she paused, an ironic smile curved her lips—quite what she had expected, what could be more appropriate? The girl had called Barron Amaruq—'amaruq,' meaning wolf. Belinda let the card slip from her fingers. Her breath came out in a long sigh of something like relief, but she would have been reluctant to admit that that was what it was.

  She sat on the edge of the bed with the scattered cards around her. She was remembering something else Taqaq had said to her. When a boy child was named, he said, it was the custom to take two little bones from the foot of a wolf, pierce and string them together, and tie them to the clothing. That would give the boy when he grew up staying power on the hunt. He would be as persistent as the wolf in hunting. Well, Amaruq, Barron, whatever he called himself, had accused her of hunting his friends down.

  She tossed her head. There would be two wolves, then. If that was how he saw her, let it be true. She would hunt them down.

  He wouldn't be the only wolf around. She herself would be like the wolf, she would show how persistent she could be. With an ironic little smile she squared her shoulders.

  The battle was on!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The weather report was coming in over the short wave transmitter Mac had had set up in a corner of the living room. The voice from the weather station crackled and burred, piling information on information, and the old-timer wrinkled his brow and gave a sigh. He looked across at the two women by the fire with a bemused smile. Mrs Mac was busy as ever, knitting needles clicking rapidly as she strove to finish Mac's annual winter woolly. It was an institution on the settlement, Belinda had gathered, and every year, regular as clockwork, a sweater for Mac would appear. Last year it had been a dun, striped affair, he was wearing it today, but this year it was cherry red.

  Mac had held the half-finished garment up. 'No chance of getting lost in this,' he had teased, and Mrs Mac had smiled benignly.

  'Foiled again,' she twinkled, shooting a smile at Belind
a. 'It looks as if I'm stuck with the same old model for another winter!' Now she paused in her rapid work, however, and looked across to where Mac was fiddling with the knobs of the transmitter. She caught his glance. 'Good news about the weather,' she said.

  Mac shrugged. 'I suppose those bods know what they're talking about.' He glanced out of the window. 'I'm half inclined to go along with Nuallataq, though. I've never known him be wrong yet.'

  'What does he say?' asked Mrs Mac.

  'He says it'll be soon. At least he doesn't actually say anything, he just goes quietly and deliberately about his preparations for the freeze.' Mac turned to Belinda. 'In all the years I've known him he's started his preparations at exactly the same time before the ice moves down. It's uncanny. I don't know how he does it. Must have some sixth sense.'

  'He's that very old man with the limp, isn't he?' asked Belinda.

  Mac nodded. 'In the old days they'd kill off their aged parents, but even in the old days I think Nuallataq would have survived. He's a sort of walking store of knowledge for the rest of them. His disability came about due to an argument with a polar bear as a young man, but it seems to have worked to his advantage. It's given him a sort of sensitivity to nature that comes close to the supernatural sometimes.' Mac laughed. 'He's a bit of an old charlatan. The Eskimos used to set great store by the so-called powers of the shamans.'

  Belinda looked up quickly. That was the second time she had heard that word in twenty-four hours. 'Shaman?' she repeated.

  'Witch-doctor—a mix between faith-healer, prophet and conjuror. Nuallataq's the local man. He'll tell your fortune if you want him to. He's said to be something of an expert with the divining bones.'

  'You scoff,' broke in Mrs Mac reprovingly, 'but there's more than just faith-healing involved. He has an amazing ability with herbal cures. He makes our official first aid box look a bit useless.'

  'Yes, give him his due, he cured that stomach upset of mine last spring.' Mac came over to the mantelpiece and selected one of the pipes there. Thoughtfully he began to fill it with pungent tobacco. Belinda watched him for a moment.

  'What do you mean when you say they'd have killed him off in the old days?' she finally asked with a shiver.

  'Just that,' replied Mac, settling himself on the sofa and putting his feet up. 'They're a tough bunch and life was hard—still is for some. The Arctic is the sort of place that doesn't give a man a second chance. When it's a question of survival it's necessary to act in a way that would seem barbaric to our way of thinking. But then we're not faced with snow and ice and blizzard and the possibility of seeing our families starving to death. It became a question of honour among the oldsters. As soon as they felt they were unable to hunt along with the rest of the group, they'd ask to be helped to die.'

  'What a gruesome thought!' shuddered Belinda.

  'Selfless,' replied Mac. 'They put the good of the community first.' .

  Belinda paused. 'I only hope for their sakes it was quick.'

  'There were two ways,' replied Mac. 'Either a leather thong round the neck, a quick pull and—' he clicked his tongue. 'Or a knife under the armpit.'

  Belinda shuddered again.

  'They're a tough people,' said Mac. 'They had to be, to survive. That's why the government welfare is having such a devastating effect on the old standards. If a man knows that all he's got to do when winter comes is get himself and his family into the nearest settlement in order to qualify for a government hand-out, why should he risk death to go hunting and trapping out in the snows?'

  'You can understand it,' broke in Mrs Mac, 'but you can see how demoralising it must seem, especially to the older generation. Some people get quite heated about it.' She shot a warning look at Mac. 'Politics always raises the heat.'

  Belinda smiled.

  'It's difficult to think of political issues out here, but when people's livelihoods and way of life are at stake I suppose politics inevitably comes into it. But change is bound to happen, isn't it? And surely it's better for the natives to have whatever benefits of modern society they can get?'

  She imagined a brief echo of the dispute with Barron earlier.

  Mac was laughing and said teasingly, 'Some say the benefits don't balance out the losses. That's an issue the politicians have to get their teeth into, not to mention the missionaries.' He chuckled to himself, and Belinda looked to Mrs Mac for explanation.

  'There was an old couple down at? Copper Bay when we first came out from England,' smiled Mrs Mac. 'Mac has never forgotten them. Whenever the chaplain made a visit, there they'd be, dutiful as ever, in church. But when it came round to being baptised they wouldn't go anywhere near him. One day he decided to have it out with them. "Why is it," he asked, "you come to all my services, you appear to enjoy them, yet you won't be converted?" The couple explained, "If we get baptised we'll have to do as you do." The chaplain was puzzled by this, so the woman said, "We all know how you frown on exchange mates. If we are baptised we'd no longer be able to exchange." Then she started to laugh. "It must be very boring when you can only have one man".'

  Mrs Mac herself chuckled.

  'I don't think things have changed much in that respect, have they, Mac?'

  'You mean they still have open marriages?' asked Belinda curiously.

  'According to what they print in the newspapers these days, the outside world's caught up with them,' chuckled Mac.

  Belinda pondered on this. She wondered fleetingly what comment Derek would make. She looked slowly from one to the other. 'What if someone decided to go native—'

  Mac gave a short laugh. 'For some that custom would be a mighty powerful incentive.' He laughed again.

  'In the old days,' said Mrs Mac, giving her husband a rather reproving look, 'it was a practical sort of arrangement, because once couples were linked by an exchange they were duty bound to help each other out, to share whatever food they managed to trap. It was really a question of survival. Also it seemed to me that even the exchange couples were surprisingly faithful to each other. A link like that would last for maybe up to two years. There was nothing casual about it.'

  'That's true,' said Mac, supporting what his wife had just said. 'There's a very practical attitude to life here. Life for anyone living in the old way is a precarious business. A hunter wouldn't last long without a woman. He needs somebody to stitch his clothes and boots and keep everything in good repair. Equipment in poor shape can mean the difference between life and death. That makes for a very special bond between man and woman. If you're out on the ice all day you really rely on somebody being back in camp to supervise the cooking, again, because proper nourishment can mean the difference between life and death.'

  Belinda nodded. She could see the sense in that. But only if people were living in the old way. 'I can see that,' she said, 'but what about romance, what about—' she bit her lip, 'what about falling in love?'

  Mrs Mac smiled. 'The young people seem to want that now, just like young folk anywhere else. Yes, things are changing in that respect, don't you agree, Mac?'

  Mac grunted. 'I'll leave speculation of that sort to you women,' he said, knocking his pipe out on the fender and rooting about in his pockets for more tobacco. He leaned forward when he was settled with his pipe once more. 'It all comes down to context,' he said. 'What people do, how they behave, you've got to see it in the context of their environment. No looking down your nose because somebody's ways aren't yours. It's how well you survive in your environment that counts. That's all there is to it.' With this, he settled back again.

  Belinda looked at him with slight misgivings. That was all very well, but when the needs of survival became less urgent, what then? Wasn't there then more freedom of choice? Couldn't a person choose how to conduct their life? What standards they would have? Her mind went fleetingly back to the incident in the wood yesterday, to the image of the young girl, scarcely more than a child, her arms full of furs, a cry of greeting on her lips. What sort of bond was it that had brought her a
nd Barron together?

  She got up irritably and wandered over to the radio receiver.

  It looked as if she was momentarily back to playing the waiting game, and it was something she did not take kindly to by any means. After yesterday's argy-bargy with that man she was determined to go it alone, and already she had taken steps to enlist the help of Taqaq as a guide. She had also managed to persuade Mac to contact the air charter company. Not that that had taken much doing, with Mrs Mac smiling purposeful encouragement in the background. Mac had been promptly pushed in front of the transmitter and told to contact the station at Invik where Chuck and the private air charter company were based. He happened to be away on a job in the East, but would be returning in a day or two, and Mrs Mac had impressed on her husband the urgency of the message.

  'Tell them. Go on, spell it out,' she had said. 'It's a matter of great urgency.'

  Mac had complied without argument.

  For another reason, namely the weather, it was a matter of urgency, and the recent report had done nothing to dissuade him of that fact. He had put his message in and now it was a question of waiting for a reply. When Chuck returned, he would fly Belinda out at once to a place on the Mackenzie River. There he would leave her and her guide, and with help from him she would travel by canoe to the place where the Nasaq had last been sighted. This was an old mining camp a couple of miles from the river, now practically defunct since the seam had proved less profitable than it had at first promised and the mining company had pulled out, leaving only one stubborn old prospector in situ. Trappers laying lines in the area would often drop in that way for a mug-up, and the chances were that old Sanderson would have heard something useful to pass on to Belinda.