by Sue Harrison
The boy stopped, looked up at him.
“No one is to watch the alananasika make the poison,” Samiq said. “Why did you watch?”
“I wanted to know,” Puffin’s boy said. “I heard my father say that only Hard Rock and Dying Seal know how to make it. What if something happened to them? Hunters die. Black Berry’s father drowned last summer; Red Bird’s father was killed by a whale. What if that happened to Hard Rock? What if that happened to Dying Seal? Then we could not be whale hunters. None of us. I watched so I would know. I think all the men should know.”
Samiq heard the earnestness in the boy’s voice and remembered what his grandfather Many Whales had once said to him. “I think I would have done the same thing,” Samiq said softly.
The boy met Samiq’s eyes and did not look away. “There is a small plant. The women call it the hunters’ hood….”
Samiq nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I know the one.”
The ceremony fires were lit. Samiq saw the flames from the ridge. “I will watch,” he told Puffin’s boy, ignoring the wide eyes that told of the boy’s interest. No one but whale hunters were allowed to watch the ceremony. “You do not have to watch,” Samiq said.
But the boy squatted down beside him saying, “I watched them make the poison.”
Samiq smiled, and knowing that the boy did not see the smile in the darkness, he reached to pat the boy’s knee.
The chanting began, and Samiq recognized the same words that were spoken when he became Whale Killer, a repetitious chant that he still remembered from the ceremony the summer before. The men wore the same masks, and Samiq watched the dancing, memorizing the pattern that Puffin’s boy showed him, the boy explaining, “It is a dance taught to all boys.”
Samiq felt a sudden elation. What more did he need before he returned to his own people, now in one short day having learned both dance and poison? He placed a twisted handful of crowberry heather on his own fire, watching the flickering of his shadow against the side of the cave. Echo of the ceremonial fires, Samiq thought. Whale Hunters and whale hunter.
He had reached again to throw more heather on the fire when his eye was caught by another glowing, this one beyond their island, perhaps on the First Men’s island, a light where there should be no light, a redness in the night sky. He stood and the boy did, too.
Suddenly, Samiq felt the earth move under his feet, and he dropped quickly to all fours, pulling the boy down beside him.
“It is mountain spirits,” Samiq whispered, but he did not think the boy heard him. The noise was too great, the tremors knocking rocks and gravel from the side of the ridge.
Samiq crawled into the hut, pushing the boy ahead of him. The boy did not speak, but once in the hut, he crowded close to Samiq, and Samiq tucked the boy under him until the shaking and the noise stopped.
The glow in the sky lasted through the night. Samiq could not sleep, but the boy slept for a short time. When the gray haze of sunrise lighted the sky, Samiq crawled outside to the ledge. Morning fog blended with smoke, and Samiq could not see as far as the fingers of his own hand.
Suddenly there was a small voice beside him. “We should not have watched. The mountain spirits punish us.”
“No,” Samiq said, but could think of no reason for his disagreement and so again said, “No.”
The boy said nothing and Samiq looked down at him, the boy’s face only a darkness at Samiq’s side. “You should go back,” Samiq said. “You will be safe at the village.”
“No,” the boy said, turning to Samiq. “I will stay another day. I will watch. You must sleep. I have slept. Now you must sleep.”
Samiq raised his hand to ruffle the boy’s hair, but drew it quickly back and instead said, “What do they call you?”
“Puffin’s boy.”
“No,” Samiq said. “Your true name.”
“I am called Small Knife.”
A good name, Samiq thought. A man’s name. The knife, life itself. “I will sleep, Small Knife,” he said.
47
WHEN SAMIQ AWOKE, THREE Fish was kneeling beside him. Her face was cut and dirty, her eyes red from crying. He looked over her shoulder to see if Small Knife was behind her, but Three Fish put her face close to his, blocking his view of everything except her wide mouth and broken teeth.
“Many have died,” she said, her voice hoarse with sobs, “and Hard Rock blames you. Some of the hunters have gone out into the North Sea. They say it is Aka that spits fire. Hard Rock says that Aka does the will of the Seal Hunters and that you have cursed us by watching the Whale Dancing.”
The ridge shook again, sending a small scattering of rocks to the ledge, and Three Fish screamed.
Small Knife rushed into the shelter, his eyes wide. “She is frightened by the rocks,” Samiq said. “Can you see anything? Has the fog lifted?”
“No. There is smoke and fog. Ash falls from the sky and covers everything.” He shook his head sending a puff of white from his hair.
Samiq grasped Three Fish’s shoulders. “Three Fish,” he said sternly, “stop crying.” The woman closed her eyes. “Stop crying,” Samiq said again. “Tell me what happened.”
She took several short breaths and wiped her eyes. “We were sleeping. Fat Wife and I. The ground began to shake and suddenly the timbers of the ulaq were falling.”
Her eyes were wide as if she were seeing the ulaq fall once again, and Samiq was suddenly afraid. When she first woke him, had she said that many were killed?
“Fat Wife was screaming,” Three Fish said, tears again on her cheeks. “Fat Wife was…there was blood in her mouth and her eyes were open. And then the roof fell on the oil lamps and I could not see, but I pulled her until I got her to the hole where the roof once was and then I could see….The blood…” Three Fish wiped her nose on the back of her hand.
She took a long shuddering breath. “Fat Wife is dead,” she said. “Hard Rock’s ulaq stands and Dying Seal’s also, but everyone in Puffin’s ulaq was killed, even the baby. Puffin, my brother!” she wailed. “My father and mother….” Again Three Fish began to cry but Samiq felt more anguish for Small Knife, and he looked up at the boy still standing at the entrance of the shelter, the boy’s body rigid, his fists clenched.
“Small Knife,” Samiq said softly, but there were no words to comfort the boy, and Samiq felt suddenly empty, thinking how Small Knife must feel losing father and mother, brothers and sisters. Then suddenly, Samiq thought of his own people, so much closer to Aka than the Whale Hunters. Perhaps even now, his mother and father, his sisters and Amgigh were dead, buried in the rubble of their ulaq. And what about Kiin?
“Kiin,” he whispered, and he pushed Three Fish from him.
The woman looked up, her eyes swollen from her crying. “Hard Rock blames you,” she said again. “He says that you called Aka, that you could see the Whale Dancing from this ridge and you watched to curse us.”
“Hard Rock is a fool,” Samiq said angrily. “What man could make fire come from a mountain?”
“He says that you called the whales and that you also have the power to call Aka.”
Samiq stared at her, saw the questions in her eyes.
Could I have called the whales without knowing? Samiq wondered. Could I have wished Aka to do this thing? But then remembering his own family, he said to Three Fish, “Would I hurt my own people also? They are closer to Aka than the Whale Hunters. Hard Rock is a fool.”
Samiq crawled from the shelter, but stopped in surprise when he saw the depth of the gray flakes that covered the ledge. He scooped up a handful, and turned to find Small Knife at his side.
“I should not have watched the dancing,” Small Knife said softly.
Samiq flung the handful of ash to the ground and said loudly, “What hunter does not watch? What watcher does not see?”
But the pain did not leave the boy’s eyes, and he said again, “I should not have watched. I am not a hunter. I am not a watcher.”
“You would have bee
n a watcher.”
“But I am not.”
“I am a whale hunter,” Samiq said. Then shouting into the fog, into the falling ash, he said, “I am a whale hunter. I have chosen Small Knife as watcher.”
And when Small Knife said nothing, Samiq pushed past him to the hut. “Gather your things,” Samiq said to him. “We will go back to the village.”
But when he entered the hut, Three Fish grasped his parka. “You cannot go back. Hard Rock will kill you.”
“I am not afraid of Hard Rock.”
“It is not only Hard Rock. All the men of the village have sworn to kill you.”
“Dying Seal?”
“Everyone. And Hard Rock will cut off your head to destroy your spirit. You cannot go back.”
“I said I am not afraid.”
“Then you are a fool,” Three Fish said suddenly, speaking in a loud, strong voice not unlike Fat Wife’s.
Her words made him angry, and Samiq said, “You have lived too long with my grandmother. You speak like a man.”
Three Fish swallowed and her nostrils flared, but she said softly, “Who will teach your people to hunt the whale if you are killed? What can you do now to help the Whale Hunters?” She stopped, looked at Small Knife, then looked back again at Samiq. “If you called Aka, causing this, then call again and make it stop. Then go back to your own people and leave us alone. But if you did not call Aka, what can you do to help anyone if you are killed? Go to your own people and help them.”
Samiq looked at Three Fish in amazement. Who would have thought there could be such wisdom behind the broken teeth, behind the rude laugh?
“You are my wife,” Samiq said. “Dying Seal will care for you if you return to the Whale Hunters, but if you want, you may come with me.”
She stood still for a moment, looking at him. “You have not yet given me a son,” she said. “I will go with you.”
They climbed down from the ridge while the smoke and fog still layered the beach. Ash made handholds treacherous, footing slippery. Small Knife fell once, cutting a knee, skinning an arm, but he did not call out, and Samiq said nothing as he supported the boy long enough for him to get his breath, then they began to descend again.
When they reached the beach, Samiq started toward the ikyak racks.
“No,” Small Knife said. “I will go. No one will bother me. You stay here. Hide in the grass.”
Samiq studied the boy’s eyes. Did he speak the truth or would he bring Hard Rock?
The boy waited, not speaking. “I will go with him,” Three Fish offered.
But Samiq drew her down beside him in the grass. “No,” Samiq said. Who could trust Three Fish? Who could say what foolishness might come into her mouth the next time she remembered her sorrow? “Go quickly,” Samiq said to Small Knife and pulled the long grass over Three Fish and himself.
It was a long time before Small Knife returned, and with the thickness of the fog, Samiq did not see the boy until he was nearly upon them. Small Knife carried an ik, the bulk of it like a huge awkward shell over the boy’s head and back.
Samiq strained to see through the fog. Perhaps there were others behind the boy, hidden in the haze, hidden by the bulk of the ik. He drew his knife from its scabbard and waited. He pushed Three Fish behind him and then moved a short distance from her. If the Whale Hunters planned an attack, perhaps Three Fish would decide to fight with them.
Small Knife set the ik down, but Samiq remained in the grass.
If he comes close enough for me to touch, Samiq thought, I will know he intends no harm.
Small Knife crouched low, creeping through the grass to Samiq, then he sat cross-legged before him, close to Samiq’s right arm. The boy said softly, “I went to my father’s ulaq. It is as Three Fish said.”
Samiq felt the boy tremble, but there was no sound of tears in his voice.
“Did anyone see you?” Samiq asked.
The boy hesitated, finally meeting Samiq’s eyes. “Dying Seal.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you were dead, lying at the bottom of the ridge, killed by Aka.”
“What did he say?”
“He said nothing.”
“Then we must go. When you return to your people, say nothing. Tell them you have not seen me. Tell them you have not seen Three Fish.”
“I will go with you,” Small Knife said.
“You cannot. You belong here with your people.”
“You are my people,” Small Knife said.
Samiq stood and pushed his knife back into its sheath.
What would be the best thing for the boy? For himself?
But suddenly, there was a man’s voice. “Let him go with you.”
Again Samiq gripped his knife.
Dying Seal moved from the gray of the fog, his hands extended before him. “I am a friend. I have no knife,” he said softly.
Samiq looked into the man’s eyes. Did he speak the truth or were there others behind him, waiting? Samiq glanced toward Small Knife. Did the boy know he had been followed?
Dying Seal waited, his eyes fixed on Samiq’s hands. “Did you call Aka?” he asked.
“Aka obeys no man,” Samiq answered.
“But are you man or spirit?”
“I am man.”
For a time, Dying Seal did not speak, his eyes on Samiq’s face. But then he said, “Does Three Fish want to go with you?”
“Yes,” Samiq answered.
Dying Seal looked past Samiq toward the woman, but Samiq did not allow his eyes to be drawn away from the man.
“Yes,” Three Fish said. “I will go with him.”
Then Dying Seal said to Samiq, “Let the boy go, too. He needs a father now. It would be better for him. He may be blamed since he was with you, and then who can say what will happen to him?”
Samiq glanced at Small Knife. “If you want to come with us, you may come,” he said.
“Yes, I will come.”
Dying Seal nodded and said quietly to the boy, “Be strong. Be a good hunter.” He turned to Samiq, holding Samiq’s eyes with his eyes, then finally gave the blessing of the alananasika, “May you always be strong. May many whales give themselves to your spear. May you make many sons.” Then he turned and walked away.
48
SAMIQ PADDLED THE IK around the edge of the cliff; a feeling of dread lay heavy in his stomach.
“Here?” Small Knife asked.
“Yes, this beach,” Samiq answered, his voice sounding high and thin even in his own ears.
They had traveled two days and in the traveling, the fog had not lifted; the ash, fine as silt, continued to fall. The bottom of the ik was layered with it, and Three Fish sneezed often and loudly, moving in the boat, stirring the ash until Samiq’s mouth and nose burned, his lungs ached.
“Your people will not be here,” Three Fish said. “They will have left. Or perhaps they are already dead.”
Samiq pulled his paddle from the water and looked at Three Fish sitting in the center of the boat.
“Do not say what you do not know,” he said quietly, holding down the anger that rose against her.
Then Samiq guided the ik to the center of the beach where the finer gravel would cause less damage to the sea lion hide bottom.
As soon as they stepped from the ik, the ground moved beneath them.
Three Fish dropped to her hands and knees. When the shaking stopped, she looked up at Samiq. “We should go,” she said. “There are bad spirits here.”
Samiq did not stop to answer her but strode up the rise of the beach, not caring whether she or Small Knife came with him.
The grass was clotted with ash and caught at his legs as he walked. He blocked all thoughts from his mind, hoping to calm the rapid beating of his heart, but his stomach twisted when he saw his father’s ulaq. Driftwood rafters stuck through the sod of the roof like the bones of a rotting carcass. Large wall stones leaned at odd angles, skewing the ulaq to one side.
Had some
of his people escaped or had all been killed? He stood on one of the displaced boulders and looked over at Big Teeth’s ulaq. Its roof was caved in, the ulaq merely a gaping hole in the side of the hill.
The island was quiet; Samiq heard no voices, no bird callings, nothing but the slap of waves, one rushing after another, their rhythm too quick, as though even the sea were afraid of the mountains.
The ground shook again, and Samiq heard Three Fish’s voice carried by the wind from the beach, fear in the whine of her words.
It is sad that women are so necessary to a man, Samiq thought. But what man can hunt and sew also? And he realized with a sudden numbness that he had brought Three Fish with him to assure his survival, some part of him thinking that his people had been killed.
But then he felt a hand on his shoulder, heard the quiet words: “Perhaps they left before.”
Samiq spun and saw that Small Knife had followed him.
“Perhaps,” Samiq said.
“I will look,” the boy offered.
Samiq saw the compassion in his eyes. “We will look together,” Samiq said, then hesitating, he finally pointed to Kayugh’s ulaq. “We will start here,” he said. The most difficult first.
The fall of ash grew heavier, and the day darkened early, as though it were winter, but Samiq could see black clouds moving toward Tugix’s peak, and he worked feverishly to move the sod and rock that lay in the ulaq.
“There is nothing,” Small Knife finally said. “No one dead. No one living.”
Samiq did not reply. Pulling a piece of curtain from the wreckage, he recognized the pattern that his mother made on all her weaving, dark squares on light background, and he felt a small flicker of hope. Perhaps as Small Knife had said, they had escaped.
They went then to Big Teeth’s ulaq, again moving sod and stones to seek what Samiq hoped was not there.
“Nothing,” Small Knife said after they had cleared away most of the fallen sod.
Samiq looked at the boy. A cold, hard rain had begun to fall, and Small Knife’s hair was molded by the wetness into a tight black hood over his head. His parka shed the water in rivulets to his bare feet, and he looked like a small boy, too young to take the responsibilities and sorrows of a man.