by Sandra Clark
His anger against the white man who regularly culled seals barbarously with clubs and guns was plain to see, and again she saw the cold come into his eyes which made them resemble chipped ice. He does have standards, she thought miserably, even if he's perfectly willing to be unfaithful to his pregnant wife and to take his sexual gratification when and where he can.
His voice seemed like music to her ears even though he was telling her in clinical detail every incident in a typical hunt. He spared her nothing, telling how they would poke down through the ice with a special snow probe, how, when they had found a suitable seal hole, they would set up the harpoon in line with the place where the seal would appear, how the lures were set, how they themselves would then settle down on the ice to wait, perhaps for hours, perhaps for a whole day.
He told how the sun would burn the face, and how it was necessary to keep still so as not to scare the seal by making shadows on the ice. Belinda asked him what he thought about all day in that long unbroken solitude of waiting.
'It's a good time, then,' he told her, a faraway look coming into his eyes. 'It's the time for making up songs to sing later at the drum dance.'
'Your world—it's so different from mine, isn't it?'
'If you behave yourself I'll take you to a drum dance.' His words were light, but he watched her warily. 'May I take you dancing, ma'am?'
She couldn't fathom his thoughts when his eyes had that lazy, dangerous glint to them.
'The Nasaq will be arriving soon. It will be bad manners not to accept their invitation to the dance.'
'I wouldn't dream of refusing,' she told him, shrugging unconcernedly. She would do as he said so far as the Nasaq were concerned. That was work. She told him so, and he smiled again with a strange look.
'I've already gathered that you'll do almost anything in the name of research,' he said. He spoke in such a way that she coloured hotly. As if not wishing to tread dangerous ground, Barron resumed his schoolmasterish tone and began to recount the ritual which took place whenever a first seal was caught. He told her how it was bad manners for the hunter to look too happy when the other men clustered round to congratulate him, and how he had had to explain to the others how hopeless he was, that it was purely luck that he had caught a seal, that if he had been a better hunter he would have got a much bigger seal. Belinda's eyes opened wider.
'Do you mean you've actually done all this?'
His lean face had been averted from hers throughout this story, but now he turned it briefly towards her. Once again his look was difficult to fathom. 'Did you think I'd got it all out of books?' he asked sardonically.
'Well, I find it difficult to imagine you looking humble,' she replied tartly.
His eyes crinkled in a brief grin. 'It was difficult. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself that first time. It was like having one's first woman,' he added brutally, watching her expression. 'We were all shouting and laughing as we put the seal on to the sled and dragged it back to camp.' He paused.
'What happened next? Did you cook it and eat it then and there?'
'No. There's another part of the ritual.' He had a thoughtful look in his eyes. 'One of the women had to pour fresh water into its mouth and singe the whiskers with a piece of birch bark. Again it's part of the ancient ritual—'
'Women?' Belinda interrupted. 'I didn't realise women went hunting too.'
'They come out with us, but don't involve themselves with the actual hunt. It's useful,' he went on, still watching her closely, 'to have a woman back in the snow house after a day on the ice.'
I bet it is, thought Belinda grimly, biting off the cutting response that sprang immediately to her lips. She gazed moodily at the toes of Tier own sealskin boots.
Barron went on talking, unperturbed. 'After she's performed various ceremonies it's time to get your partners.'
Belinda wished she could shut her ears to what he was saying. She didn't want a blow-by-blow account of his sex life.
He eyed her speculatively before he went on. 'When a man kills a seal, he has to divide it up with his partners. According to custom there are about sixteen or seventeen portions to a carcase and they have to be given to each of the hunter's partners.'
'You mean you have sixteen or seventeen partners?' burst out Belinda incredulously. She eyed him with blank-eyed astonishment. No wonder he preferred this primitive life in the Arctic wilds if such customs were the norm!
He laughed softly. 'Up in arms again?' he derided. 'You sound as if it matters to you.'
'I couldn't care less how many partners you have, as long as none of them are me,' she told him frigidly. 'Have twenty, have a hundred. It's nothing to me. I'm just surprised that you actually have time to do any hunting!'
He threw his head back at this. 'Oh, Belinda, you are sweet.' His eyes teased hers, but she refused to be melted. 'These partners are seal partners. They're the men who've taken part in the hunt,' he explained. 'One of them will be a heart partner, one a rib partner and so on. The idea is that whenever a seal is killed every man in the group will get a portion. No one will go without. It's a way of making sure no one goes hungry.' He smiled. 'You still have a long way to go before you revise your opinions about these people,' he told her, 'and,' he added, 'about me too.'
Belinda flushed. 'You deliberately led me to believe— oh, what's the point?' she finished abruptly. 'You've never denied that you have that sort of relationship.'
'What sort?' he persisted, widening his eyes innocently. She threw him a furious glance which was answer enough.
'I'm a man. And if I have that sort of relationship, is it any business of yours?' He watched closely for her response.
'Certainly not!' was the immediate reply. 'It has no interest for me whatsoever.'
Barron sighed and looked thoughtful for a moment.
'You're so censorious, Belinda.' He looked as if he was going to go on and say something else and a frown knit his brow, but instead he eased himself into another position and locked his hands behind his head. 'Another thing about seal partnerships is that they're hereditary,' he went on after a short pause. 'It seems to be the only relationship that is. That means that if I have a son, he will inherit all the partnerships I've had,' he told her. 'He will be heart partner to the son of my heart partner.'
Belinda let the words re-echo in her mind. 'He will be—' Barron had said. 'Will be.' It was already a foregone conclusion, then. He had really and truly turned native. Not only did he have exchange partners and hunting relationships, he was already thinking into the future when his own children would inherit the same hard and primitive way of life that he had so unaccountably picked out for himself.
'Why did you choose to live here of all places?' she asked involuntarily. As soon as she had uttered the words she could have bitten off her tongue. She didn't want to know anything else about him, anything that would make her think any the less of him. His chosen way of life was so difficult to understand, she felt frightened at the thought of hearing any more.
Instead of replying all at once, Barron lay still for a moment with his head thrown back and his eyes shut. The sharply etched outlines of his deeply tanned face looked stern. With a glance full of longing flooding her expression now that he was no longer watching her, Belinda traced from a distance with her eyes the shape of his cheekbones over which the skin, taut and weathered by the fierce northern winds, glowed with health, and virility in the soft light of the soapstone lamp. His dark brows arched aristocratically over deep-set eyes, the arrogantly straight nose seemed to foretell the hint of savagery in the set of the mouth, yet in all this strength and unyieldingness, in all this obvious power and will to dominate, there was a fine sensitivity, a hint of gentleness which seemed wildly at variance with what she already knew of his present way of life and what she suspected of his past. There was even, she thought, a hint of vulnerability about him, a hint of the poet and dreamer. When his face was in repose as now, surely, she argued hopelessly with herself, it must have be
en the poet, the idealist in the man which had made him reject ordinary society? Surely it wasn't anything dishonourable that had brought him here? She waited for what he would confess, fearful that her fantasy was about to be destroyed by a confession of villainy which would once again put her in fear for herself, alone and defenceless, as she was in this desolate place.
Suddenly his eyes snapped open, taking her unawares with their startling clarity of blue. His tone was expressionless and he smiled lazily but without humour. 'Why am I here? Wouldn't you like to know?' His lips curled bitterly. 'I thought you knew I was a renegade, on the run from the past.' His eyes swept her body in that openly appraising way which had made her blood boil on their very first meeting.
'It's all right,' she said quickly, fearing to arouse any uncontrollable passions connected directly with his secret past. 'Ayurnamat.'
Barron smiled at her use of the Eskimo word. 'We'll make a native of you yet!' His eyes closed once more, and he seemed to drift off into thoughts and memories of the past which brought him no pleasure, for his jaw was set rigidly and his lips formed a tight line of determination as if he had become used to the need to battle in both his previous life in the world of big cities and business, as well as here in nature's cruel world of ice and snow and unending darkness.
Belinda longed with all her heart to be able to see into his soul, to fathom the heart of this man whose abrupt silences and self-mocking seemed to hint at a deep and hidden sorrow.
He spoke no more that evening. It was as if he had clammed up on some brooding secret in his inner self. Belinda sensed that he needed to remain within himself, that talk was anathema to him in his present mood and she respected the silence he seemed to draw around himself like a cone. Wordlessly she had lain under the caribou blanket, and when Barron had risen from his place on the platform to put out the lamp she had stared into the darkness at the place where she could hear him tossing and turning in a fretful sleep. It was several long hours before sleep at last overtook her too.
Next day it was so dark when Belinda woke up that only the sense that a certain number of hours had elapsed since she had fallen into a belated insensibility told her that a new day had arrived. Barron had already risen, as if in possession of some kind of highly-developed, animal sense of the passage of time and the changing of night into day. She knew he never wore a watch.
Now she could see the glow from the approaching lamp and tensed at the soft scraping sounds of his boots on the snow as he came quietly into the snow house. He moved as if he didn't want to wake her and for a time he simply held the lamp up high, checking, it seemed to her, that everything was in order. Then he busied himself with the heater and the cooking pot.
'They're arriving already,' he said without turning round. Belinda sat up on one arm.
'How did you know I was awake?' she asked.
'Have you slept much?' He turned his glance full on her as if searching for the answer to some other question.
She shook her head. 'I don't know why not. I couldn't settle,' she replied.
'Nor could I,' he replied.
She swung her legs energetically over the edge of the platform. 'Am I going to be allowed out today?' she demanded.
'I should hope so,' he smiled. 'You've had a long enough holiday. Now it's time to start work. Got your tape-recorder?'
An unexpected feeling of anticipation took hold of her. 'Do you really mean that?' she said, scarcely believing what he was implying. 'And why have you changed your mind? You've been obstructing me for so long, what's made you change?'
'Stop asking irrelevant questions. Eat your breakfast, then come on out,' he ordered. 'I'll show you to them, then you can decide how you want to work. It might be a good idea to ask someone to describe the building of a snow house as they do it, as their methods are quite unique, and then you can tape the whole process of setting up camp, from the beginning, then tape something on the different daily chores, and so on. Unless—' he looked down at the tousle-headed girl with a mocking glance, 'unless you stick by what you said earlier. About not wanting my help?'
Belinda had the grace to look ashamed. 'Words spoken in anger,' she told him with a rueful smile. 'I do forgive and forget sometimes.'
'So do I!' he said with a note of grimness in his voice. 'Life would be impossible otherwise.' Briefly a shadow seemed to cross his face. 'Come on,' he chided her, as if making an effort to escape the mood of the previous night. 'The time is now and now is the time! Buck up!'
Belinda got quickly to her feet. She was in no mood to point out how bossy he was this morning. There was too much to do.
She exchanged a smile with him as she washed and dried herself in a hurried attempt to freshen up. It certainly wouldn't have done if she'd been over-fussy about her appearance. A quick brushing of her hair tamed the shining mass of gold into some semblance of style and in a moment she came to stand to attention in front of him. 'All present and correct, sir!' she joked.
For a moment he seemed arrested by something about her. A word of approval escaped him, then he turned his head abruptly. 'Too beautiful,' he said. His mouth curved in a crooked grin when he looked back at her. 'What am I to tell them when they ask me if I want to share you?'
Belinda coloured violently. 'Surely they won't think that we—' she halted in confusion.
'Will it bother you?' he asked, paused on the threshold, ready to go out.
'They must know about—' Colour flooded her cheeks again. 'I mean, what will they think of me—?' It wasn't what she had meant to say. She glanced quickly at him to see if he was teasing, but his face was serious.
'It's bad manners for a man to refuse any request from his seal partners,' he told her seriously. Belinda picked up her recording equipment and made for the door.
'You know what I think,' she told him through tight lips. The last thing she wanted was to get into another argument with him at this stage. They Would just have to agree to differ and he would have to tell his precious partners she was not for barter.
Later that day Belinda was feeling happier about her work than she would have ever thought possible over the last few weeks. Barron was an excellent guide and translator, seeming to possess the ability to predict her needs at any time. He was also discreet and kept himself well in the background so that her subjects were free to give her all the information she might require.
After a long session with the group of men building a house he told her that it was time for a rest, but that as they were going to eat in the house of the shaman she should bring the tape-recorder and see if he would give permission for her to record some of his songs. 'If not,' he told her, 'you can record the communal songs in the snow -house during the drum dance tonight. I told you I'd take you dancing. I hope you're not going to turn me down?'
She shrugged and avoided his glance. 'Where on earth can they have a dance?' she asked instead. There was a note of mystification in her voice, for none of the family houses were big enough to cope with more than three or four visitors, and the whole community here was close to fifty adults plus a tangle of excited children who seemed to be everywhere at once.
'Wait and see,' was his only reply as he ushered her forward to meet the shaman.
Belinda briefly wondered how he had described her when he made the introductions. The shaman's dark eyes had glittered in a friendly fashion as he turned to her, saying her name over to himself, as if testing the syllables in his mouth and letting his sharp-eyed glance take in everything about her. Now, while they talked, she had a chance to let her gaze rest lingeringly on Barron's strong intelligent face, and she noted with tenderness that it was suffused with such an expression of warmth and interest as he spoke to his friends that he seemed to be a totally different man from the sombre, taciturn one who had shut her out of his memories so emphatically the previous night. He seemed to be truly at one with those nomads, loved and accepted into their close-knit community with no reservations. Belinda had been moved by a feeling which she was beg
inning to recognise as something like respect for this man when she saw how he had been greeted by every single adult in the party as they had driven up on their sleds, and even round-faced children had flocked around him, as if he was a favourite uncle, following in his wake, imitating his every move, the smallest ones clambering all over him whenever the chance arose. His appearance seemed to cause a stir like that of a returning hero—so much so, that she had turned impulsively to him at one point and asked him if they were always so friendly and exuberant in their dealings with outsiders.
'I'm not an outsider,' he said simply. 'And because you're with me, neither are you. They all like you very much.'
Belinda looked abashed. 'They seemed to have such a reputation for shyness, coldness even,' she replied. 'I'm just surprised that they seem so wonderfully open-hearted.'
He had smiled wryly, his voice grim. 'Not many people lake the trouble to get to know them as well as I have. They've had some nasty experiences with white folk. They're wise to be on their guard. I've been very lucky, very privileged, in my dealings with them.'
She had wanted to question him further, maybe even ask about the man whom he had thought of as a friend, but it seemed wiser to let no dark shadows from the past spoil the present mood of gaiety which was growing with every new arrival to the map.
'Isn't this better than your artificial city life?' Barron had murmured, brushing her hair once, as if by accident, with his lips.
She had declined to answer, but found it difficult to move away. She had let his lips press her forehead before moving slowly out of reach.
Certainly she could see now why he had tried to protect these people from what he thought was a crude incursion from the outside world by a scandal-hungry sociologist.
