Face the Winter Naked

by Bonnie Turner

  “Uncle Lars and Aunt Gerda thought I should see you again. And they’re getting old. I didn’t want to be a burden.”

  “Your mother’s family didn’t consider you a burden, Davy. Lars thought—and I thought—you might need me.”

  “You thought?”

  “What’s wrong, David?”

  “I don’t even know you anymore!”

  David took stock of his surroundings. A typical Hudson’s Bay fur-trading post, the long wooden shelves on three walls of the large square room held a variety of trade goods: clothing, rifles, ammunition, bolts of fabric, tins of tobacco, and food staples. On the plank floor next to the counter sat a few bundles of animal hides. A fishy odor permeated the room, as though the walls and floors had been built from old newspapers in which a char or trout had been wrapped. Even Per’s body carried the scent.

  A large yellowed map of King William Land hung on the wall behind the counter, with Gjoa Haven circled in red, a desolate island surrounded by water—or ice, depending on the season. David thought he may as well have been a speck of matter light years from Earth. For all he knew, even God would forget where he was.

  “You’ve had a rough trip,” Per said, “Maybe after you’ve rested and calmed down, you’ll feel better.” He turned to the pilot as Mac came over. “Thanks for bringing him down in one piece, Mac. The weather turned bad, I was worried.”

  “My pleasure, Per. Nice kid you’ve got here. Better looking than his old man, too! He was good company.” Mac looked at David and grinned. “But I think at one point, he imagined we were flying upside down! Couldn’t see the sky or the ground.”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t throw up,” David said. “Next time I go anywhere, I’ll walk.”

  The incident of a few moments before seemed forgotten as the two men discussed weather conditions before Per turned to David again. “What do you say we go back to the native room for a “mug-up”—that’s what Eskimos call their tea breaks. You’d be surprised how much tea they drink.”

  “You two have a lot of catching up to do,” Mac said. “I have some mail and packages to bring in, but I’ll be along shortly.” He secured his parka against the storm and left the building.

  “I remember the tea and the cold,” David said when they were alone again. “I assume most Eskimo villages are about the same as far as culture goes.”

  “There are a few differences, which you’ll find out. But they do love their tea, especially when their insides are frozen.”

  “Frozen insides? It gets that cold up here?”

  “Colder!” Per laughed. “But you’ll get used to the weather, and you’ll soon have tea coming out your ears. There’s nothing more comforting to these people than socializing over a cup of hot tea. On the other hand, some of the men drink home-brews, unless I catch them. A drunk Eskimo is a lazy Eskimo who won’t hunt, and the Hudson’s Bay Company is all about hunting and trading furs.”

  “I have a lot to learn.” David looked around the room again, noting how rustic and ancient it looked, as though he’d stepped back in time. All the basics for life in Gjoa Haven seemed to be on display in this one area. In a moment of lightheadedness, he was overcome with a feeling of déjà vu. I know this place! But the feeling vanished quickly and he refocused on what Per was saying.

  “Your two most important lessons will be patience and acceptance. You’ll need both to stay sane in the dark winter months. There’ll be times when you lose your patience, David, but if you don’t accept things the way they are, you’ll be asking for trouble.”

  Are we going to stand around all day while he gives me the whole history of the Arctic?

  “Do you still have that little book of Eskimo words?”

  “I don’t know where it is,” Per said. “I speak Inuktitut fluently now, so I don’t need it. I’ve spent years learning their language.”

  Not only that, but Per Jansson had even rejected the anglicized version of his name when he reached adulthood, and he’d once held the distinction of being a family man with the Hudson’s Bay Company in remote northern areas reserved for young single men. As a rule, managers never stayed long at one trading post. But Per had been at Gjoa Haven longer than usual after the company moved him from Perry River when Ingrid’s health deteriorated and he returned her to Alberta with their son.

  “I won’t know how to talk to these people,” David said. “I’m sure I’ll make a fool of myself.”

  “You’ll do fine,” Per said. “The Eskimos are good teachers.”

  “Do they speak other languages?”

  “Some speak English, a little French. Most prefer their own language.”

  Per led David into a small room at the back of the store, speaking as he went.

  “The Eskimos are friendly, but they’re people with problems like anyone else: illnesses, blood feuds, hunger. Religious taboos, a shaman’s black magic. It’s a hard life but they deal with it. Some of us aren’t so lucky.” He motioned to one of two tables with checkerboards set up. “Have a seat. This is where Eskimos come to socialize and play games. I’ll brew some tea while you give me the family news.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I went to school and helped on the farm. That’s about it.”

  David removed his parka and sat down as Per moved quickly from the cupboard to a cast-iron heating stove that radiated warmth into the room. The man talked incessantly, and his hands trembled when he measured tea.

  “I think you’re going to like it here once you get used to the people and the climate.”

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “Nope. After the plane leaves, you’re stuck until the next mail delivery, and that could be months. You’ll probably feel like a stranger for a few weeks, but I hope you give the place a chance.”

  “I tried to learn more about Eskimos before I left Peace River.” David studied the game board. “You mentioned black magic, but I think shamanism’s the real thing. One of my friends knew someone whose grandfather was healed by a shaman.”

  “Is that right?” Per sat down across from his son. “Don’t mess with that stuff, David, it’s hocus-pocus!”

  “But I don’t see—”

  “Shamanism’s dangerous. Don’t get involved.” Per changed the subject abruptly, indicating the discussion was closed. “So, how was life on the farm? What did you do?”

  David couldn’t recall a time when he’d been cut off right in the middle of a conversation, and Per’s comments disturbed him. But what could he do? If he pursued the subject, it would only make things worse. He decided to ignore it, and Per was waiting for an answer.

  “What did I do? I lifted bulls and baled hay.”

  Per burst out laughing. “Shoveled manure!”

  “Yeah, lots of that.”

  “Gerda didn’t write much,” Per said. “And the mail’s often late because of the weather. So I don’t know much about your life in Peace River. How did they survive the Depression?”

  “Okay I guess. I don’t remember doing without anything.”

  Per thought for a moment. “Lars was lucky to keep the farm.”

  “We didn’t starve if that’s what you mean. But some of my friends had a hard time with their dads out of work. We gave away tons of food. . . . I didn’t think you’d remember Uncle Lars and Aunt Gerda.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Lars—big man, country face. And Gerda is—”

  “Aunt Gerda is as wide as Lars is tall!” David grinned. “Oh, and Mother’s family called me Johnson, not Jansson.”

  “I’m not surprised. They didn’t approve of me changing the name back to the old way. Did it bother you?”

  David shrugged. “At first, but I got used to it.”

  “Tell me about Lars. Did he treat you well?”

  “Of course. He respected my feelings and treated me like the son he never had.” David made direct eye contact with Per for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a jackknife. “Look what he gave me for my birthday.”<
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  Per took the knife and opened the blades one at a time.

  “Very nice,” he said, handing it back. “It’s even got your initials on it. Reminds me of one I used to have.”

  “I carry it with me all the time.”

  “A good knife comes in handy up here.” After a minute, Per said, “I hate to admit I lost track of your birthdays.”

  David ignored the remark and returned the knife to his pocket. “Uncle Lars taught me to ride a bicycle, and he took me fishing and canoeing. When we weren’t working on the farm, we paddled up Peace River.”

  “Did you now? Tell me about it.”

  “He taught me to paddle and showed me how to portage a canoe. He said he was going to make a voyageur out of me.”

  “See? Lars thinks you’re a fur trader!”

  David shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But that’s a big river. We got caught in a storm one time when we were out fishing.”

  “You can fish in Gjoa Haven after the ice melts on the lakes, or fish through the ice. But for now I’m thankful you’re here. After I close the store, we’ll go over to the house and I’ll cook a welcome feast.”

  David pulled the checkerboard closer and moved a red checker to the next row.

  “Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

  Per got up and went back to the stove, opened the door and shoveled in some coal, then adjusted the damper.

  “It’s no trouble for a son I haven’t seen in years. I have meat simmering and I baked bread early this morning.”

  Per’s mustache twitched when he smiled. Whistling while he worked, he poured steaming water into a large pot filled with tea leaves, then sat down and cupped his hands around the pot.

  “I forgot you have to wear a parka in the store,” David said. “Why not put a heater out there?”

  “Eskimos are used to the cold, David.” Per glanced toward the doorway when the sound of footsteps and laughter drifted in from the other room. “No point wasting fuel when they only come in to trade a few times a year. Besides, someone always leaves the door open.” He looked down at his hands. “I keep my mitts on unless I have to write an order. When it’s very busy, or when taking inventory, a clerk’s hands freeze.” He strained hot tea into a mug, pushed it across the table and indicated a small dish of sugar. “You’ll want some of that, the tea’s strong.”

  David stirred too much sugar into his tea and waited for it to cool a little before drinking.

  “My trunk, some books, and other stuff are still on the plane.”

  “We’ll get those later,” Per said. “But for now just sit back and relax. Get warm.” He reached out suddenly and moved a black checker. “Get the noise of the airplane out of your head.” He looked up as Mac entered the room.

  “Hey, Mac, did you see the St. Roch on your way over?”

  “Nope.” Mac poured himself a cup of tea. “I gassed up and took right off again before the storm got worse. Couldn’t even see the ground.”

  Per turned to David. “The St. Roch is the RCMP schooner. Maybe you heard that it rescued the Fort James crew last year after the James got crushed by the ice. Now the St. Roch’s frozen in for the winter at Cambridge Bay. The officers patrol the islands once a year by dogsled. You just missed them. They were here a few days ago with an eighteen-dog team.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Did I mention the noise? Dogs howling day and night!” The commotion in the other room grew louder. “I think you’re about to meet our Eskimo friends.”

  David felt a headache coming on as he picked up his mug and drained the rich dark liquid. The last thing he wanted was to meet new people before he’d had a chance to unwind.

  “In a few days, I’ll show you the routine for the post,” Per said. “Before long, you’ll know how to grade furs and keep books as well as I do.”

  Disregarding the fact that the pilot was still there, David stood abruptly and looked Per straight in the eye. When he spoke, his voice sounded calm and mature, but his open defiance made his stomach hurt.

  “I might have to learn this trading business, because for now there’s nothing else to do on this desolate rock. But I have no intention of following your footsteps.”

  He regretted the words the minute they were out of his mouth. It was a bad way to renew a relationship, because now he needed Per Jansson more than Per needed him.

  Per rose slowly, his hands gripping the table’s edge. He glanced at Mac from the corner of his eye. No one had dared address him like that since his run-in a year ago with a man drunk on home-brewed wine.

  “You’re exhausted from your trip,” he said. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  They both sat again and Per turned to the pilot.

  “So, Mac, what’s the news from the outside world?”

  “Tense, but easing up,” Mac said. “Or it seems to be.”

  “The Company’s been operating at a loss for some time,” Per said. “I cut back on my own expenses, took a pay cut, hunted and lived off the land like an Eskimo.”

  David remained silent, listening to the men. He thought about Uncle Lars, the farm, the warm rolling landscapes, meadow flowers and barnyard smells. Cows swishing flies away with their tails, waiting to be milked. Living off the land meant different things to different people, depending on where you lived.

  Mac turned to David, cutting off his thoughts.

  “I’m leaving soon, so I’d better unload your trunk.”

  “I’ll help—”

  “Oh no, there’s plenty of help out there. Stay here and relax.” He extended his hand. “Thanks for the company, David, and good luck in your new home!”

  David nodded. “Safe trip, Mr. Brady.”

  Take me with you!

  Per waited until Mac left the room before turning to David again.

  “Let’s talk about my footsteps.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” David said. “I’m here because you’re the only parent I have left. I thought I should get to know you again. But Mother didn’t like the Arctic and neither will I.” He picked up a red checker and jumped over Per’s black one.

  “Your move!”

  “Cocky little bastard, aren’t you?”

  Before David could reply, two sturdy Inuit men came laughing through the doorway.

  (Continued)

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