“Thank you‚ Siku. You have led me to food and water.” She laughed. “And I was supposed to save you.”
Having eaten and drunk‚ she thought about how to get home. The modern life of the Eskimo had not taught her how to live off the land.
“And‚” she said‚ “there will be no Siku on the land to guide me . . . Or will there?”
Before he left Smith Bay‚ had lingered as if caught in some shaman wizardry. He had seen the girl on the beach when he’d held his head out of the water by pumping his flukes. Now he rose again and looked. After many seconds‚ he threw himself backward.
BOOM! He came up headfirst. The girl turned around and smiled. He looked into her eyes. Something otherworldly passed between the eighty-ton whale and the girl with the kind eyes‚ eyes like others he had known. Siku recognized the same feeling he’d had when they first saw each other‚ after she and her brother had scrambled down the ice pack in Barrow. Later‚ she had saved him‚ and then he knew he must save her.
“Siku‚ you’re with me‚” she called. “You have brought me here. I’ll make it.”
sank back into the water‚ and turning onto his belly‚ joined a group of whales. The girl turned her boots west and walked down the beach.
Emily Toozak and Siku were one spirit.
Siku met three other whales and swallowed five hundred pounds of plankton. They were headed for deeper water. The sun was circling the earth just above the horizon. In its gold light Siku spy hopped as if to check on Emily Toozak‚ then dove and swam out of Smith Bay.
Emily Toozak was also ready to leave the bay. She gathered a few things from the ship that might be useful on her trip‚ including a wooden box‚ and put them in her blanket. Taking a deep breath‚ she swung the blanket on her back‚ tied the ends around her chest‚ and left the battered wreck.
She heard a thunderous whoosh . . . and turned around. A whale spy hopped‚ dove‚ and slowly lifted its great head. The figure on its chin was a dancing Eskimo man‚ hands up‚ knees bent and far apart. She waved. “I’ll see you‚ Siku. I am well‚” she called‚ and began to walk.
A familiar voice traveled clearly to Siku. Then he heard a chorus of shrieks‚ tings‚ and roars. The sounds were calling him‚ telling him the route to the next good feeding area.
Emily Toozak sighed as she watched Siku’s footprints leave the bay.
Frightened‚ she sat back down. Then‚ like some spirit out of a shaman’s brew‚ a gossamer wind of mist blew over her. Although she was alone‚ she no longer felt afraid.
Siku‚ that’s you‚ she imagined. I feel you. You are with me. I am all right now. She lightly brushed her cheek with her hand.
She stood up and started on her journey.
“Siku‚” she said to the mist‚ “I will find berries on the tundra and ground squirrels in the grass. I am an Eskimo.” She left the beach and stepped onto the seemingly endless tundra.
After a few steps‚ she gasped‚ wiped her eyes‚ and stared. “Is that somebody walking toward me?” The figure vanished in the sun.
“It’s just a mirage‚” she sobbed. “Ei eeee.” A misty wind blew softly against her face. Again‚ she touched her cheek‚ and became calm.
“Siku‚” she said. “You’re with me. I will be all right‚” she repeated. It was a refrain she would say over and over.
As swam out of Smith Bay‚ he heard distant bzzt‚ bzzzt sounds that he recognized to be narwhals! Narwhals are small whales‚ up to twenty feet long. The males have one long spear-like tooth growing out of their upper jaw resembling the mythical unicorn horn. Their flippers are shaped like half circles. Although narwhals live in the eastern Arctic waters of Greenland and Canada‚ a rare few had ventured as far west as Smith Bay. ignored them and followed the whale songs into the deeper Arctic water.
swam past the coastal fringe of ice floes as the sun warmed the polar region. When he surfaced for a breath‚ he glanced at the gulls and seals sitting on the floes. The water was growing warmer‚ the winds stronger‚ and there was ice to tumble in. Purple clouds sailed above green-and-yellow ones. Day and night were becoming one sun-filled day. He was near his summer home.
A storm threatened. A wolf eel darted in front him. A school of cod swirled and dove. The sun flashed gold on their scales. Jellyfish turned the water pink as the wind blew them together. The air temperature dropped to 30 degrees F. It snowed. swam peacefully on. This was his world.
Miles farther along‚ the snow ended. A slick of zooplankton appeared near the ocean surface and opened his gigantic mouth to take it in‚ but stopped. It smelled wrong. The slick was not the oil of rich zooplankton but a slick of oil from the motor-driven ships. Pumping his flukes up and down‚ he swam away from it.
When he reached the deeper waters‚ chatter told him that was up ahead with three of his daughters and a son. The five had found each other by sound and sight despite the vastness of this sea. They ran their bodies along each other to express their whale pleasure at being together again. They pushed small ice floes back and forth and whipped their flukes in pleasure. joined them‚ carrying an ice chunk on his rostrum. knocked it off him and pushed it to his daughter.
The Eastern Beaufort Sea‚ the summer home of the bowhead whales‚ was murky with plankton and exploding with life. No other large baleen whales came here. These rich‚ ice-strewn waters were the waters of the ice whales.
Saffron cod summered here also. could see them eating zooplankton. Below them were castles of stone rising from the darkness like mysterious cities. On their sunlit walls‚ anemones and Arctic coral thrived. In the near darkness grew sponges and gelatinous creatures. Millions of years of evolution had adapted them and the bowhead whales to these impossible conditions. It was a world of variable light‚ cold water‚ and thick sea ice. There was nothing like these creatures anywhere else on the earth.
At home here‚ moved gently among the life on the edge of the ice pack.
Suddenly whale joy within stirred him and he played with his friends and many of his own relatives. They breached and crashed into the water.
Playtime over‚ he checked his favorite zooplankton fields. There were pink masses of krill tumbling through the water column. Around the krill were animals that made sounds so vivid he could see them. He heard grunting fish‚ clicking shrimp‚ and whispering anemones.
After eating several tons of krill‚ he found his offspring again using sounds and listening. When they saw him they boomed whale words of happy recognition. Whoosh. CRASH! They slapped their flukes and touched their great bodies and ran their flukes across each other.
Then sought his larger family of cousins and second cousins and great-great-great-great-grandsons and daughters. They spy hopped joyfully‚ some of them rising forty feet above the surface of the water in bowhead exaltation.
The whales were coming back.
Benny took Emily Toozak’s mother Flossie’s hand and held it firmly when he returned without her daughter.
“She is alive‚” he said. “And we will find her.”
Robert and Oliver smiled hopelessly‚ their arms around Flossie’s shoulders. Slowly they walked her home.
The shaman’s curse? Could it be true? Robert thought. Glancing quickly from his son to his wife‚ he hoped they had not read his mind. He bent his head so they could not read his face.
Benny watched them walk toward their home. He stood on the black gravel beach stones alone. The ice‚ snow‚ wind‚ and clouds raced from horizon to horizon.
Looking determinedly across the broad tundra‚ Emily Toozak searched for signs of a village‚ a snow machine‚ or a hunter. There were none. All was brown and green with splashes of blue or pink wildflowers. Ancient landscape left by the Ice Age on the tundra rippled toward the horizon. They were carpeted with moss and grass.
“No help there‚” she said aloud. “So I walk on. That’s wh
at I have legs for‚ Siku. You use your fins and flukes to get to the Beaufort Sea and back. I’ll use my legs to get to Barrow.”
Her grandmother had told her that her early ancestors would walk three hundred miles to visit their friends in the winter. When they reached their destination‚ they feasted‚ played games‚ and danced. Marriage matches were arranged between families. Then they all walked home.
“I can do that too‚ Siku. Go legs‚ go.”
She returned to the beach for easier walking. Almost immediately she found patches of oyster leaf growing on the beach gravel where the waves had only lapped‚ not pounded. She snacked on their rubbery leaves. Large pinkish jellyfish stranded by the low tide and storms covered the beach. Their tentacles were a hundred feet long and looked like tangled hair.
The bells could be poisonous to eat‚ her grandfather had told her. She climbed the bluff back to the tundra. Now that Emily had to survive by herself‚ she found she remembered some of his lessons. Her grandfather had always talked about the old ways. She and Oliver had accompanied him on walks when they were small. Every day he had showed them a new plant to eat or creature to watch. As kids‚ they were usually more interested in playing tag rather than learning. Now Emily tried to recall the teachings of the Toozaks before her. She wished she had paid more attention then—she hoped her grandfather’s lessons would come back to her now.
Walking on‚ she went around two-inch-high willow forests and vast gardens of dwarf buttercups. The Arctic crowberries were only in bud and not much good to her. By noon‚ and very hungry‚ she decided that buds must be good for one and ate handfuls of them. They were tasteless‚ but she ate them anyway. Hunger satisfied‚ she chanted as she walked.
“Siku‚ Siku‚ you are my spirit person.
You have made the plants part of you and me.
You have made the animals part of you and me.
We flow through each other.
We are one.
Aye‚ ya‚ ya. Aye‚ ya‚ ya.”
Emily came upon a field of the first flowers to bloom‚ dwarf lupine. They were azure blue in color‚ like the shadows of sea ice. She knelt down to smell them. Swish!—a white-fronted goose flew up beside her.
And nearby in her nest lay eight unhatched eggs.
“Magic‚ Siku‚” she said‚ her dark eyes nearly closing with happiness. “Bird eggs are gold.” She cracked two and eagerly drank their rich filling.
“For some bird species‚ if you take all of the eggs‚ Siku‚” she said‚ “they will lay again. But not geese, they will not lay more that season. So I better take just one or two from each nest.” She paused. “Now‚ where did I learn that?” Was she remembering her grandfather’s words on her own? Was Siku helping her?
Placing the blanket and egg box carefully on the ground‚ she stretched out to rest. As she started to close her eyes‚ she blinked them wide open. A bank of fog was moving toward her. She would need shelter‚ for Arctic fog was cold and blinding. She remembered the fog two years ago that swept down on the town so suddenly that she couldn’t find her house and ended up huddling with some sled dogs.
Hurrying behind a frost heave‚ she opened her blanket and put the egg box and the little objects from the wreck on a patch of rubbery lichen. Quickly making a shelter out of the blanket by putting heavy stones on its edges‚ she crawled under it and waited for the fog to arrive.
It was then she heard the airplane. She burst out of the shelter.
“Oh‚ no!” she cried as the pilot saw the fogbank and turned away. The Wayne plane headed back to Barrow. Its motor sounded fainter and fainter.
“No! Don’t go!” she called into the white‚ thick air.
The world went white as the fog enveloped her. She crawled back under her blanket and pulled her parka tighter to her body and blew into her hood to keep warm. Tears fell‚ but she quickly wiped them away.
“I’ve got eggs to eat and drinking ice in my pot. I’ll be all right‚ Siku.”
She stopped talking to listen to sheets of mist sweeping the tundra. A strong wind tore at her blanket. She held on to it.
The tundra was bursting with life after the fog lifted. There were lines of birds in the sky and small mammals scurrying on the tundra—all her friends. She had big goose eggs and little berry buds. Although she still had her fresh drinking ice‚ now that there were many freshwater ponds to drink from. She felt connected to the earth.
After the sun had circled the sky several more times‚ she came upon a pond that flowed into a river. She did not know the river’s name‚ but since Siku had passed many river mouths without knowing their name‚ so would she.
The problem now was how to cross it. As Emily grew more comfortable with her surroundings‚ she began to think more clearly. Barrow lay somewhere on the other side of this river. The currents ran east north of Point Barrow‚ she figured. “I’m sure Siku pushed me until there was a safe place to beach. I must go west.” So she walked up the riverbank looking for a shallow place to wade. She came upon a kayak partially buried in mud near a group of tall tussocks. The kayak was old but still usable. She pulled it out and rinsed it off.
“Siku‚” she called. “You sent this kayak here. I know you did.” Smiling and laughing in play talk‚ she put it on the water. A paddle was left in the bow. She hopped in‚ loaded her gear‚ and paddled into the small river.
As she continued up the river‚ the wind stopped. Suddenly she was in a storm of mosquitoes. She had met them before and knew what to do—pull her parka hood tighter‚ then grin and bear it. Hundreds crept up her nose and swarmed on her lips. She ate them. They were good! Licking mosquitoes off her lips‚ savoring their sweet lemony taste‚ she headed west up the river.
Flies joined the mosquitoes until the air became gray. Both insects were biters. As Emily was wondering what she could do about that‚ a wind picked up that blew the insects away.
“Siku‚” she said‚ and patted her cheek.
She looked over and saw several big fat woolly-bear caterpillars on the riverbank.
“Oh‚ Siku‚” she said. “I know what to do. Arctic woolly bears freeze for the winter and can’t move. Ernest said it takes them fourteen years of freezing and thawing before they can become a moth. They have thawed now. I’ll try eating them.”
The flies began biting again as she ate a woolly bear. She scooped up a handful of snow from a last patch on the north side of the riverbank. She held it near her face. Cold emanated from it. The flies flew away.
As she was paddling she felt something with her feet in the bow of the kayak. She pulled it out; it was a small gillnet.
“Aarigaa (great)! Now I can get all the food I need!”
She set the net in an eddy in the river‚ and within minutes‚ it was filled with whitefish. She pulled out the net with its savory catch and cleaned the silvery fish with the same knife she had used to cut Siku’s ropes. She patted her cheek. She was hungry‚ and after slicing the fish into small pieces‚ she ate the sweet meat. A feeling of well-being came over her. She packed the other fish away for later.
Emily Toozak kept paddling. After four more miles she came to a lake that connected to another creek‚ and another lake‚ and on and on. She kept heading west. She thought of the long journey her whale made each year. The thought of Siku surviving all those years of Yankee whaling made her believe she could survive too.
She saw a patch of yellow flowers on the bank. They were like nothing else she had ever seen. They were little cups instead of petals‚ the northern water carpet. She peered into the cups. Shiny seeds lay heaped in the center of each. A drop of water fell from her fingertips into a cup. The seeds splashed out in all directions.
“A splash cup‚” she said‚ and laughed. “What a smart way to sow your seeds. Plants have wondrous ways. If plants can be that clever‚ so can I.”
Tired of
paddling‚ she pulled up to the bank. She tore from her blanket three quarter-inch-wide strips and braided them into a rope. Then she tied a couple of shorter braided ropes to it. At the ends of each‚ she tied stones.
“I’ve made a bola‚ Siku‚” she said proudly‚ and whirled it around her head. “The snare of my ancestors.” She let it go and watched it careen through the air.
“Pretty good.” She ran to it and picked it up. Walking as quietly as a ptarmigan‚ she looked for game. Not far away was an Arctic fox that had almost finished changing into his brown summer coat. He was catching lemmings. She circled the bola over her head and hurled it. The fox darted away. She felt discouraged. The fox was too fast and wary.
Then she remembered that bolas are meant for hunting birds. She was suddenly remembering things other elders in the village beside her grandfather had said all the while she was growing up. She thought she had not paid attention.
She walked on‚ throwing the bola at ptarmigan and owls. She got better. She whirled it into a flock of geese and‚ surprisingly‚ struck one. She grabbed it and hurriedly plucked and cleaned it. She had real food.
“But I have no fire‚” she moaned‚ and then happened to glance at her wristwatch; its glass covering magnified the numerals. Magnifying glasses could make fire. That she had learned in school. She worked the glass off the watch‚ crumpled the cotton band‚ gathered dry grass‚ and broke up the wooden box wrapping her one remaining goose egg in her blanket.
Then she dug a pit in the thawed surface ground and lined it with stones. Getting down on her knees‚ she concentrated the rays of the sun on the grass bundle. The dry blades grew red and burst into flame. She fed the flame with pieces of the wooden box and slivers of driftwood. When the fire was burning hot‚ she added stones and let them heat. When they were fiery red‚ she wrapped the goose in grass and then got the fish from her kayak. She cleaned and wrapped them‚ too. She placed it all in the pit on top of the hot stones‚ and covered it with damp grass.
Ice Whale Page 8