Polar Boy

by Sandy Fussell

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ACROSS THE ICE LINES

  “If you don’t tie that knot properly, Ananaksaq will tumble into the snow.” Tuaq smugly points to Nana’s chair, balanced on top of our sled.

  Papa packs the sled, but it’s my job to tie everything down. It’s an important task. We can’t afford to lose anything. Stone, fur, hide and bone – there’s never enough to make the things we need. Only the ice is endless. There’s always snow for Finn’s sculptures.

  The sled is piled high with blankets, clothes, fishing nets and furs. Cooking utensils and a spare dog harness hang in a tangled clump. Astride it all sits Nana’s whalebone chair. Papa stands on the front ledge to drive; Miki, Mama and I stand on the rungs at the back. But Nana perches on a throne above us, queen of the icelands.

  Ignoring Tuaq, I continue tying on cooking pots and knives.

  “You need to check that knot.” Tuaq stands his ground, pointing to Nana’s chair again.

  “All right. I’ll do it if you go away,” I grumble, climbing up the sled to prove him wrong.

  But he’s not. Where the twine is threaded through, the bone has splintered in pieces. Grinding my teeth, I’m not happy with what I have to say next.

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  I’m not going to ask how Tuaq knew; I’ve swallowed enough pride in one gulp. It must have been a lucky guess. Even though we don’t like each other, I trust Tuaq would never sabotage our sled.

  Tuaq doesn’t wait for conversation or questions. With a grunt, he’s gone. Off to gloat and brag to the other boys. I can hear it now. Did you hear about Iluak? His head’s still full of ice-water. He almost tipped Ananaksaq into the snow.

  I check all the knots twice. Mush snuffles around my feet, poking her nose into the sled’s nooks and crannies. She’s checking my handiwork too.

  Excitement rises in my belly as I imagine the journey ahead, wind slapping against my face and the almost-warm touch of the arctic sun. Even though I wish we didn’t always travel the same journey, I’m looking forward to my first whale hunt. Mush yips playfully. Butting my boots, she’s ready to run.

  “Not long now, girl.” I tickle under her ears. “I can’t stop and play. I’ve got work to do.”

  My village rumbles and rattles with the sounds of families preparing to travel. Women and girls empty the igloos. Men and boys pack and prepare their dogs, trudging the snow into slush.

  Made of sealskin and whalebone, our summer tent is light to lift, but it’s a struggle for one boy to hold and lash into place along the side of the sled.

  Miki takes one end of the rope. “I’ll help with that.” She pulls the twisted caribou skin tight while I hold the tent poles in position.

  “When did you become so helpful?” I tease.

  She ignores my question. “What was it like being dead?”

  “It was warm.” Closing my eyes, I remember soaring skywards. “I spoke to the raven and we flew together, high above the ice.”

  “Are you part spirit now?” Wide-eyed, Miki looks at me as if I might sprout wings and flap away.

  “No,” I sigh. “I haven’t changed at all. Even reborn, I still can’t face Nana’s prophecy. When I looked down from the sky, I saw bears and I was frightened.”

  “But if you can fly like a bird, you can escape.”

  I shake my head. “I can only fly if I’m dead. The bears were waiting and I had to come back.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Miki says.

  Silence can be very loud. Like now. It rings in our ears because neither of us knows what to say.

  “I lost Grandfather’s necklace,” I mumble.

  “Maybe you’ll have a new necklace, with a tooth from your own bear.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not laughing.” Miki places her hand on mine. She’s not making fun of me, she’s trying to help.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “It’s okay. Everyone is afraid of something,” she says.

  “Not Grandfather.”

  “You don’t think so?” Miki’s eyes twinkle. “What about Nana? Remember how Grandfather hid behind the canoes while Nana ranted about how he used her best jacket to wrap seal meat?”

  I remember. He called her the scariest thing on ice.

  Miki puts her arm around me. “When the time comes, I’ll be there with you.”

  I’m still afraid but I’m no longer alone. “Thanks.”

  Silence returns. But this time it sits comfortably between us like a familiar worn blanket.

  Checking and tying extra knots, we work until the sun is halfway to the top of the sky and Mama brings us mugs of steaming tea.

  “Do you ever wonder what lies beyond the ice?” I ask, crouching beside Miki.

  She laughs. “That’s a silly question. Everyone knows the answer. More ice.”

  But I’m not so sure.

  “Aren’t you happy here, Iluak?” Miki searches my face, trying to understand.

  I nod. It’s true, I’m happy, but I’m not content.

  “What were you and Tuaq arguing about last night?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Nothing.” She draws patterns in the snow.

  “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  “He tried to kiss me.”

  “What!” I jump up, spilling tea onto my boots.

  “Sit down, silly. It’s nothing. Lots of boys try to kiss me.”

  “What!” I yell even louder. Now Miki splutters her tea, giggling mid gulp.

  “I’m twelve. I can look after myself.”

  She’s right. I’m thirteen and a man and she’s twelve, almost a woman.

  “There was something else,” Miki volunteers.

  “What?”

  “Tuaq said one day Nana won’t be here. He said when he’s the shaman, I’d be glad to kiss him.”

  There’s no way a bully like Tuaq will ever be the spiritual leader of our village.

  “He’s a liar.” I put my arm around Miki’s small shoulders. “Anyway, Nana won’t be dying for a long time yet. Raven doesn’t want her.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “When I fell through the ice and the raven wanted to take me, Nana flattened it with her story stick. She threatened to pluck its feathers.”

  Miki giggles.

  “Come on, you two,” Papa chides. “Less talk and more work.”

  “Yes, Papa,” we chorus.

  Aunty and Uncle have packed the second sled. Harpoons and hunting bows. The quilliq lamp, our precious jar of seal-blubber oil, Mama’s big cooking pot and Massak’s cradle.

  Friends stop to talk, to ask Uncle’s opinion of the weather and to kiss Massak on the cheek.

  Last, Papa, Uncle and the other men load the boat sled. Our village has two umiak canoes to hunt the great bowhead whale. Each umiak is thirty shoe-lengths long, made of sealskin and whalebone. Two men can easily carry one over their heads.

  “Here, Mush,” Papa calls.

  Mush runs to her position in the harness. Three of our dogs pull the large sled, two pull the smaller one and one helps haul the umiaks, all howling, yapping and barking with excitement.

  I help Nana up to her chair, then Miki, Mama and I climb onto the back of the sled. Finn lines his sled up beside us. When I was only three, Finn’s father drowned during a walrus hunt. Sometimes I think I remember him. A big man, who didn’t talk much but laughed a lot. Like Finn. Then the memory blurs and I’m not sure. I asked Finn what he remembered. “Nothing”, he said, shaking his head. “Not good.”

  Finn is the same age as me but his tracking skills are old. Like Papa, he navigates by searching the sky, reading the ice patterns reflected in the clouds. Dark patterns for the sea close beneath the surface and light for safe, thick ice.

  The wind scrapes across the frozen ground. Hard. Harsh. It scratches the fine sastrugi lines we travel. Eyes skywards, Papa and Finn will find a pathway through to the coast.

  “Can we ride in the umiaks, Papa?” I ask. />
  The other children stop to listen, hoping he’ll say yes. It’s fun to bounce along in the boats.

  “Not today, Iluak. The path is unknown. It might be dangerous.”

  Mama nods agreement. “We cannot afford to lose anything, Illy, not even a boy.” She smiles but I know she is worried. There is always something to fear.

  Every spring we travel south to the coast to pitch our tents where the ice is melting and spend the summer chasing whales. Every journey, the ice changes. Nana says it is alive but like the raven, it can’t be trusted. It holds us close and warm in our igloos then opens its giant, jagged mouth to swallow whole villages.

  “Yah,” Papa calls.

  “Yah,” Finn echoes.

  Dogs bark, children cheer and sleds slither. My village moves.

  Miki and I play Ice-spy. I spy a rock and a pile of slush. Owl eyes Miki spots a snow goose feather.

  “Look, a seal hole.” She points.

  My stomach cramps with fear. “Tricked you.” Miki laughs into the wind. “You should have seen your face. White as snow.”

  I bat her playfully with my gloved hand. She’s right about one thing. Fear is white. Thin ice, cracks in the snow, polar bears and avalanches.

  Nana tells stories about a place where the world is green, where plants touch the sky and the sun shines bright and warm. There’s no fear there. If I was free to choose, I’d load up my sled and go searching for such a place. Every day would be an adventure. Every morning would bring something new.

  “Yah,” Finn calls suddenly, his voice cracking through the burble of barking and voices. In our language there’s only one word for stop and go. Dogs and sleds skid to a halt.

  Between Finn’s yell and Papa’s response are five long seconds. An eternity here, where life and death is measured in moments.

  “Jump,” Papa yells.

  I pitch myself nose first into the snow. Miki and Mama follow. Thump. Thump. Thump. Mush calls out in panic, frightened yelps punctuating Papa’s shouting. Strong hands help me to my feet.

  “Thanks, Finn.”

  We rush to the front of my sled where a huge crevasse yawns in the hungry ice. Dangling over the edge, leads strangling their necks, our dogs struggle to climb the air. Quickly, Uncle anchors our sled to his. The dogs have stopped yelping. All I can hear is an icy stillness.

  The village men work without speaking. Our women stand quietly, hoping. Nana, still on top of the sled, raises her arms to the sky. Three dogs is a huge loss, not just for our family, but for the whole group.

  Bit by bit, step by step, one pull after another, the men winch the dogs to the rim and remove their collars. Brak and his mate shake their heads, then run to prowl around the sled. Papa places Mush’s limp body in my outstretched arms.

  “Let’s have a look.” Nana gently massages Mush’s chest. “You try,” she says to me. I copy her movements, willing Mush to open even one eye.

  “Please,” I whisper. My tears splash onto her fur. I don’t care if I’m too old to cry.

  Mush coughs, blinks and slurps her tongue across my nose. Struggling out of my grasp, she rushes off to join her brother. As if nothing happened. Before anyone notices, I wipe my eyes and pretend nothing did.

  Now I am free to worry about other things. Papa didn’t jump. I understand that. He tried to save three dogs and a sledful of valuable items. But Nana didn’t jump either.

  “You didn’t jump when Papa said,” I accuse.

  “You are right, Iluak. We should always obey your father.” She grins. “Except if we can see into the future and know it is not necessary.”

  “You wouldn’t want to tumble into the snow, Nana,” says Tuaq, appearing at my side.

  I search Tuaq’s face, to find the hidden smirk. But there’s none. He’s afraid. Everyone is afraid of something, Miki said. But why is Tuaq afraid of Nana dying?

  We walk the line of the crevasse looking for the best place to cross. There’s none to be found.

  “South,” Nana says.

  The men don’t like that. South takes us further away from the coast and the migrating whales.

  Nana stands with Miki and me, watching the men discuss the new detour.

  “The Too-lee man always grumbles,” she says. “He complains about the endless ice and, when he finds a place where it stops, he complains even more.”

  “But we almost fell in where the ice ended,” Miki says.

  “Exactly. Endless ice is a good thing. We need more ice.” Nana stomps off to sort out the grumblers.

  Sometimes even Nana is afraid. She worries one day the world will get too warm and the ice will begin to melt. I try to imagine a world with more sun and less ice. A world where you can take your gloves off in the middle of winter. It’s impossible. There’s no such place.

  “This is all your fault,” Tuaq hisses in my ear. “You’re bad luck. First the seal hole and now the crevasse.”

  “As if you’d know,” I snap. “You’re just jealous.”

  “What? Of you?”

  “Yes. I’ve been reborn, but there’s nothing special about you.” I fold my arms and dare him to contradict the spirits.

  “Reborn for what? Bear meat. I’m going to be a shaman.”

  “You are not.” I spit my words onto his boots. “Stop saying that or I’ll tell Nana.”

  Tuaq folds his arms too. “Ask her then. She told me,” he insists.

  “I will. Come on, Miki.”

  Nana is helping Mama make lunch.

  “Tuaq says he’s going to be a shaman,” I blurt out, waiting for Nana to set things right. Instead she nods.

  “But he’s a bully.” I stamp my feet, angry at her betrayal.

  “Yes. Tuaq is not wise but soon he will be. And you are afraid but will soon show great bravery. You two should be friends. You need each other,” says Nana.

  I shake my head. It takes two people to make a friendship. He hates me and I hate him. It’s not a good start.

  “Do you trust me?” Nana stares into my thoughts.

  “Yes, Nana.” I do. With all my heart.

  “Good. We must wait for what will be.”

  I hate waiting. It’s all right for Nana. She’s old. Old people are good at waiting. They can’t do anything fast, even if they want to.

  At lunch, I hear Kiya whisper, “Did you hear how it happened? Iluak again.”

  “Maybe the spirits threw him back because he’s bad luck. Even death wouldn’t have him,” says another.

  “And then there’s the bears. Tuaq’s right. Iluak is trouble.” Even Finn’s mother is worried.

  My cold seal strips stick in my throat.

  Nana’s voice rises above them all. “Sometimes I cannot tell the difference between the idle gossip of my sisters and the empty honking of snow geese. The spirits are testing Iluak. He will face the great bear to keep us safe. Otherwise,” Nana’s eyes flash, “we will fall into darkness and our night will go on forever. The boy is our future.”

  “Sorry, Nana,” they whisper, staring at me with even wider eyes.

  “Look,” Finn says, appearing beside me. He has made a new harpoon with a sliding spear. He launches it across the snow. The spear lands a body length away, still attached to the holder in Finn’s hand. “Much better,” he says.

  I see what he means. Next time I won’t have to wait so close to the seal hole. Whenever Finn is near, I am less afraid.

  “Very clever,” approves Nana.

  Grinning, Finn rushes off to show Papa. Finn is always full of ideas. He thinks differently. He likes to carve ice sculptures but he makes useful things too. Last winter, he tied frozen fish to his sled runners. Everyone laughed until his sled outran them all.

  “When Finn speaks as fast as he thinks, his voice will roar through our village. Then everyone will wish they only had one ear,” says Nana with a smile.

  After lunch we pack up and travel again. This time we walk to make the load lighter for the dogs and to exercise our cold muscles. Even Nan
a. Finn and Papa lead the way. It’s slow walking as the landscape is dotted with rocks. Some are piled higher than two men, one standing on the other’s shoulders.

  When we reach a flat rock-free stretch of ice, Finn and Papa stop. The men check the ground carefully and Nana looks too.

  “We camp here tonight,” Papa finally announces. “Temporary igloos only. Tomorrow we keep travelling.”

  Miki and I groan.

  At least temporary igloos are the easiest to make. If we work quickly, there will be time to play.

  “Let them explore,” Nana says. “Sometimes children must learn by working with their hands, but other times they must learn with the seat of their pants, sliding down the ice.” She points to the where the snow begins to rise over rocks.

  “Thanks, Nana.” Miki and I hug her hard.

  “No holes in the seat of your pants. I don’t want to spend all night stitching.” Mama wags a finger at us. “You be careful. Take Mush.” It’s the unsaid warning. About bears. A rocky hill would be a good place for a bear and her cubs.

  I hesitate.

  “Want me to come with you?” Tuaq sneers. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Neither am I,” I pretend.

  “I go,” says Finn, standing beside me.

  “And me,” adds Miki.

  Friendship conquers my fears. Miki, Finn and I run across the ice, our heavy snowshoes flip-flapping. Finn is fastest, as usual.

  “You’re a human sled,” pants Miki as she grabs the back of Finn’s parka and he pulls her along.

  Excitedly, we climb over rock, snow and ice. Slipping and sliding. Below us, the temporary igloos begin to take shape. We can see a long way from here. Endless ice.

  Miki spots the cave mouth first.

  “Shhh.” She covers her mouth and points. There might be a bear.

  “Let’s go back,” I say, panicking.

  As much as I want to, I can’t. My feet are frozen to the snow. I can’t go forward and I can’t go back.

  “Come on,” Miki whispers. “Let’s sneak up and look. There are no tracks.”

  Finn checks the snow and nods. Creeping towards the cave entrance, we stop to listen with every second step. Nothing. Not even a bear’s breath.