by Sandra Clark
'You've got one deadline to meet,' said Chuck, taking her hand and raising the finger tips to his lips. 'It's important. The freeze-up doesn't hold off for anybody. You'll have half the rescue services out if you're not here to time.' He brushed her fingers lightly with his lips and added, 'As well as one very worried air charter pilot!'
For a moment Belinda thought he was going to kiss her, but with a sudden deepening of colour, he turned briskly away. 'I'd best be getting back before dark,' he said huskily. 'Let's check the equipment on board.'
Taqaq had made a good job of loading the kayak in what seemed to his expert eye the safest and most efficient manner. All that was left to do now was for Belinda to climb aboard and settle herself on the thwart amidships. Chuck hung about on the landing stage until they were ready to go, then he untied the painter and Taqaq was suddenly swinging the bows of the canoe into the turbulent waters of the mainstream. The last view Belinda had of Chuck, he was raising one hand in farewell. Then they were quickly caught up in the rushing waters and all her attention became focussed on the bucking and plunging of the boat.
It was true what Mac had said about Taqaq's skill and also, Belinda thankfully noted, about the absence of rapids on this stretch of the river. After the initial shock of being waterborne in the flimsy native craft, she began to enjoy the adventure of it all. The water wasn't swift enough to cause any real problems and Taqaq paddled easily and rhythmically, guiding the laden vessel expertly between the rocky banks.
Belinda lost track of time in the dreamy half-light of the overcast sky, but it must have been after about an hour or so when they finally came to a widening in the river and Taqaq steered the kayak into the shallows where a shelving cobbled beach gave access on to the bank. Without too much difficulty he managed to pull the kayak on to the edge to allow Belinda to climb out without getting too wet. Taqaq himself waded up to his thighs, long sealskin boots protecting him from the wet. He managed to swing the stern of the kayak into safe mooring and together they lifted the boat up on to dry land. It was now that Belinda saw the reason for keeping their equipment to the minimum. Within a few minutes they had unloaded it all, strapped it on to their backs and, with Taqaq leading the way, set off along a faintly outlined track into the hinterland.
Belinda noticed that Taqaq carried a large knife tucked into his belt and within easy reach of his hand, and when she asked him if he carried it for any special reason, he smiled with a flash of gleaming teeth and explained that sometimes there would be bear and it was always wise to go armed in such regions. Belinda questioned the possibility of attack, her palms, she noticed irritably, becoming suddenly clammy inside their fur mittens. Taqaq shrugged and said that perhaps it wasn't likely, and anyway bear would have to be disturbed before attacking and they were both to move carefully. He flashed another grin at her. 'This knife wouldn't be much protection anyway,' he told her. Belinda shuddered, not sure if he was teasing her or not, but when she tried to say this to Taqaq he just smiled and walked steadily onwards. Belinda wondered if his English was as good as Mac had claimed, but it was difficult to carry on a conversation when they were walking in single file through such an oppressive silence.
It was fortunately only a short walk. In a little time they were heading towards a log cabin set at the foot of a limestone crag sheltered on two sides by pine trees which marked the beginnings of a deep valley. A water barrel stood outside, and there was a washing line attached between two trees and other signs of what passed for domesticity in this wild region.
Belinda hurried forward with a cry of relief. She had not wanted to admit to herself the feeling of desolation she had momentarily felt as she had been borne away from the figure framed against the Anson, that little symbol of safety and protection amidst the overpowering threat of nature in the raw, and now she eagerly approached the big wooden door of the cabin with a cry of greeting springing to her lips. To her mystification there was no answering response. Together she and Taqaq . banged on the heavy door, then the Eskimo raised his voice in a shout. But there was still no reply. With an impatient push he gave the door his weight and it swung open to reveal the main room of the cabin.
'Sanderson!' called Taqaq loudly. 'Visitors! Come on, man! Where are you hiding?' He stepped inside, closely followed by Belinda. She swung the heavy pack down off her shoulders and peered round. It was a rough abode, there was no doubt about that, with no trace of a woman's hand to give it that homely touch. There was nothing but an earth floor and uncut timbers to keep out the wind. A large blackened stove dominated one wall, a dresser displaying a few unmatched plates, a rough-hewn table and chair comprised Sanderson's home. And then the sickly sweet smell of alcohol and tobacco assailed them with a pungency that was overwhelming after the clarity of the air outside. Belinda felt a sudden tightening in her stomach muscles, which made her remember that she hadn't eaten since that morning. Mrs Mac had given her the full works, even so it was a long time since and the combination of hunger and sudden fug made her want to retch. She must have swayed, for Taqaq put out a steadying hand. Together they strained their eyes, trying to make out the shapes in the shadowy room. One thing was sure in the rapidly failing light—there was a stack of empty whisky bottles laid up against the wall right by where they stood that would have done justice to any Saturday night party. Taqaq gave them an uninterested glance and went on farther into the room.
'Hah! Sanderson!' he yelled suddenly, moving lightly over to an untidy-looking couch pulled up in front of the big black stove. It was facing away from the door, but Taqaq, observant, had spied one boot-clad foot sticking out over the arm. He went up to the couch and peered cautiously over. Belinda saw him wrinkle his nose with distaste, then it seemed as if the couch had come abruptly alive, for something fur-clad and of enormous shape seemed to rear up with a deep roar, and without thinking Belinda had turned and started to head fast for the door. Only when she heard a man's mumbling laugh and Taqaq's cries of greeting did she pause to look back. Then she saw the Eskimo back-slapping the shapeless figure which had risen up at him from the couch. He was being practically crushed in a huge bear-hug in return, but somehow the dark-haired Taqaq managed to extricate himself from Sanderson's hold on him, and by the time the two men had finished she had already edged closer and was standing open-mouthed as they turned to look at her.
'Well, well, well, what have we here, you old dark horse, Taqaq! Hey?' The dishevelled old man with a bush of tobacco-stained, once white beard nudged the young Eskimo in the ribs, and Taqaq raised his arms helplessly at Belinda.
'I'm a researcher from the university of—' began Belinda, but the bear of a man cut in with a rumbling belly-laugh.
'Don't tell me—' he wheezed alcoholically, 'I've heard all about you.' He slowly began to subside on to the couch again. 'Have a drink,' he waved his arms expansively towards the half empty bottle on the floor beside him. 'I won't get up—bad leg.' He turned to Taqaq. 'Come on, man, get the little lady a drink.'
Grumbling and wheezing, he lay back among the grubby furs covering the couch.
Belinda looked at Taqaq. 'Shall we ask him now?'
Taqaq grimaced. Sanderson's eyes were already closed and he appeared oblivious to the presence of guests. 'Hey, Sanderson,' said Taqaq. 'Aren't you going to talk to us? We've come a long way to have a mug-up with you.'
Sanderson's eyes snapped open and he eyed the Eskimo shrewdly. 'I know why you're here,' he shot a glance in Belinda's direction. 'If you've anything of the man about you, Taqaq, you'll forget the Nasaq and enjoy yourself.'
Belinda blushed furiously, and even Taqaq looked uncomfortable. She smiled reassuringly at him. She knew why he was so eager to come out to the Hell's Gate region. He had already told her about the young Eskimo girl who was travelling in that region with her people. 'So you've heard about the Nasaq recently,' she put in smoothly. 'We heard they were maybe hunting around here—'
'Then you heard wrong,' said Sanderson, again shooting her a piercing glance from
beneath furrowed brows. 'Pass the bottle, Taqaq, and stop shuffling about like that.' He reached out and took the bottle from Taqaq's hand and swigged it back. He wiped the neck politely and handed it to Belinda.
'I'll get you a—maybe not a glass,' grinned Taqaq, 'but something to drink it from.'
'I'm not sure I can cope with whisky on an empty stomach,' demurred Belinda.
Taqaq came close to her and said, out of the corner of his mouth, 'He's going to be difficult. Keep in his good books. O.K.?' He poured a small tot of the whisky into two none too clean mugs he found on the dresser and drawing up a chair for Belinda, made a space for himself on the couch.
'Well, man,' he started, 'how've you been keeping since I was last out this way?'
Sanderson retrieved the whisky bottle before answering. 'Had a visitor,' he said.
Taqaq looked at the whisky bottle with a nod. 'Looks like it,' he said. 'Anybody we know?'
'Somebody who knows your little friend,' wheezed Sanderson. He chuckled comfortably to himself. All at once he seemed to collapse in a wheezing heap among the furs. He seemed to fall asleep almost at once, snoring fiercely and unmusically, the bottle gripped tightly across his chest.
'Oh hell,' said Taqaq, 'we'll have to wait. No point in rousing a sleeping bear. Big trouble then, no?'
Belinda sighed. She saw the wisdom of Taqaq's remark, but was finding it difficult to conceal her impatience. Looking closer, and gingerly still holding the enamel mug into which Taqaq had apologetically poured a token drop of the whisky, she saw that old Sanderson was in fact quite a small man, barrel-shaped but short, with a wizened craggy face, darkened by wind and weather, as well as infrequent washing. He was almost completely bald with nothing but a fringing of yellowish hair at the back of his head. Tobacco stains yellowed the front of a dirty-looking shirt which seemed to be held together by a couple of safety pins, and an old dress waistcoat that had obviously seen better days completed the top half of his garb. His legs were encased in a pair of enormous trousers fastened at the waist with string, a pair of braces hanging down the front, fulfilling no particular function. Only the boots seemed cared for, although even they were old and had obviously seen better days.
Belinda took all this in with sinking heart. She hadn't been unduly put off by Mrs Mac's description, because she imagined that at least the man would be able to talk to them, give them some sort of answer to their questions. But this! He was obviously going to be no use whatsoever. Her face must have shown her dismay, for Taqaq patted her shoulder in a brotherly fashion.
'Chin up,' he said. 'Somebody got here before us with the whisky. Wait till it wears off.'
'That might be ages,' replied Belinda.
Taqaq shrugged. 'I'll fix us something to eat. I know this place. Many a time I have Sanderson's hospitality.' He looked questioningly at Belinda. 'Is that the right word—hospitality?'
Belinda couldn't help grinning. 'Yes, that's right. Arctic hospitality is a variable experience.'
Having plunged straight into sleep Sanderson snored throughout their meal. Belinda's mind was turning over what Sanderson had said, but as he showed no sign of coming to, she had no way of knowing that what she suspected was true or merely the fancy of her imagination. Eventually she looked up at Taqaq. 'It's obvious that he's going to be no use to us,' she said, 'so what now?'
Taqaq poured another tot of whisky each. It was their third or fourth now. At first it had hit her hard in the stomach, but now it was beginning to fill her with a rosy warmth. 'Maybe you'll have to call it a day.' Taqaq sat back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully.
'I can't give up. Not now.'
'Maybe you should wait here for a day or so, then make your way back to the river. Somebody may come in in that time.'
'I'm going to have to get a letter off to Derek as soon as I get back to base.' She was thinking aloud now. 'No one can say I haven't tried. As for hospitality, look at him!'
Taqaq wrinkled his face distastefully. With a rush, Belinda asked the questions which had been burning inside her head throughout the meal. 'Who got here before us? Who told him about me? How did he know I wanted to meet the Nasaq?'
Taqaq's eyes were unfathomable as he gazed into the fire. 'There are many possibilities. At this time many people come out from the trading post, and they all know to spread the word. Mac told them.'
Belinda nodded. Perhaps she was letting her feelings cloud her judgment. She had had another and more unpleasant idea. But what Taqaq had said was probably true —anyone could have mentioned her quest to Sanderson. It was just that something in the way he had said it made it sound as if he had been warned not to give anything away. She put this thought tentatively to Taqaq.
'But why should anyone do that?' he laughed. 'It would be hard enough to meet them without putting traps in the way.' He poured another tot of whisky.
With a deep sigh Belinda let the anxiety drain out of her body. She had done what she could; now she would just have to wait. It was as if she was now entirely in the hands of fortune. For the present at least there was nothing more to be done.
A couple of hours later, serenaded by the still snoring prospector, Taqaq and Belinda were sitting at the kitchen table, playing gin rummy, the remains of an adequate meal of stew and dumplings still in front of them. Belinda was thinking that really it was quite pleasant to have given up looking for the Nasaq, even if only temporarily. The wind that had been steadily getting up through the day was now blowing with a frightening force around the cabin, but this just seemed to add to the cosiness inside. Apologetically Taqaq reached out for the unopened bottle.
'Are you going to get drunk, Taqaq?' Belinda asked disapprovingly.
'Not unless you are,' he quipped.
'I shall endeavour not to,' she answered primly.
Taqaq's teeth shone brightly in a quick smile. His dark hair was glossy in the light from the oil-lamp and his look when it rested on her was teasing.
'Endeavour?' he asked.
'To try,' she answered.
'I am endeavouring not to tell you how pretty you look,' he grinned.
'Good. Keep trying,' she replied, unable to keep the smile off her face.
'Do you like me?' he asked, still with a teasing glint in his eye.
'Of course,' replied Belinda quickly. 'But—' she stopped.
'But—I think you already have your heart elsewhere?' He smiled again.
'So have you,' she answered. 'At least, so you told me not two days ago.'
'I have,' he replied simply. 'That makes both of us. So now we can be friends.'
Have I got my heart elsewhere? thought Belinda suddenly to herself. It was an unexpected thought and she had answered like that simply because she didn't want any sort of complications, but a troubled look darkened her eyes for a moment. She was beginning to feel that she had got over her crush on Derek. It was easy now to regard him as the father figure in her life, and she knew he too would be relieved at having found a role which would not add complications to his usually well-ordered life. Was it Chuck? Did her heart belong with him? She liked him immensely. Yes, she thought, if her heart was anywhere it was with Chuck. But it was really too early to say anything like that. She slapped down a card triumphantly. 'My game!' They were evenly matched and soon tired of playing. Belinda didn't feel like talking, but she knew some decision about the next few days would have to be made. She had had a good look round and there was simply no way of getting a message back to base. Even if she had wanted to she couldn't have managed to ask Chuck to come out any earlier. They really were stuck here in the wilds with nothing but a long prospect of endless card games to look forward to.
'Tell me honestly, Taqaq, what do you think the chances are of anyone happening to come through this way in the next few days with the news of the Nasaq? It's hardly Piccadilly Circus, is it?' She noted the look of mystification in his eyes. 'What I mean is,' she explained, 'the chances of anyone coming here, anyone we could ask for news about the Nasaq—
well,' she sat back with a sigh, 'it's just not very likely, is it?'
Taqaq's frown relaxed a little. 'I tell you my people are a little northwards of here. It's a day's journey. You come with me. They may know something.'
'But what about the rendezvous with Chuck? One day there, one day back—that's cutting it fine,' she countered.
Taqaq shrugged. 'So impatient!' he smiled at her. 'Don't worry, Belinda. Old Sanderson will awaken. He doesn't know what he knows right now. In the morning everything will be different. If not tomorrow, then the day after. Something will happen, I know it. If it's meant to, it will.' He put the cards aside. 'You want me to show you some cats' cradles?' Belinda looked blank. Taking a piece of string from out of his pocket, Taqaq dexterously wove it around his fingers, then held it out to her.
'Oh, I see,' said Belinda, the light dawning. 'We used to do this as children.' She took the string off his hands. Anything to pass the time. An hour later she was grudgingly moved to admiration. It seemed that the patterns Taqaq could make were endless, and he explained that on long dark winter nights, in the snowhouses, the Eskimos would amuse themselves for hours with the ancient string patterns which had been handed down for generations. 'No television, no cinema in the ice-fields,' he explained with a grin. Belinda chuckled. She would have something to tell her colleagues when she got back. She could bet her bottom dollar that none of them would have included cats' cradles in their academic research!
